The Warehouse Murder
by Snuffy Livingston
Summary: CROSSING JORDAN XOVER, SLASH. Nigel Townsend never would have thought that the darkest part of his past could lead him to the brightest part of his future, Horatio Caine. Full summary inside.
1. Prologue

**The Warehouse Murder**

-- -- -- -- --

_Francis Lovett, a wealthy businessman, is found shot in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the glades. Horatio and his team are assigned to the case, and quickly discover that the death is far more insidious than imaginable: Lovett was a "division leader" of an international child prostitution ring. He left behind a wife who mysteriously survived and a list of enemies ten miles long, and the only lead they have is one Mr. Nigel Townsend._

_Hailing from Boston, Nigel flew down to Miami on a business trip and had the luck (or perhaps the lack thereof) of finding Mr. Lovett and his wife in the warehouse. Even though he swears that he's never seen either of them before, Nigel has much more to do with the case than he or anyone else realises. One of the darkest parts of Nigel's past comes back to haunt him when they discover that the head honcho of the prostitution ring is none other than the man who molested Nigel when he was only nine years old._

_But that isn't the only conflict sprouting: Horatio can't seem to shake a strange connection he has with Nigel, and they are both quickly drawn to each others' presences. Before long, the amiability turns to passion and the passion turns to love, and now they have to deal with themselves and those around them. In the face of conflict, can their relationship last? Can they find the man who murdered Francis Lovett? And can they bring down the horrifying prostitution ring, saving the lives of hundreds of children and getting revenge on the man who made Nigel's life hell almost twenty years ago?_

-- -- -- -- --

"Come on, come on, come on, Bug, you lazy piece of shit, pick up the bleeding phone…"

On the other side of the glass wall, the bustle of Miami Dade police centre was muted to a dull roar, punctured with the sound of his pacing. Nigel really couldn't help but wonder, with an enormous amount of resentment, why on earth Bug couldn't get to the cell phone that was practically attached to his hand.

"You know, talking at the receiver won't make him pick up any faster," said the voice from behind him. Nigel turned and sneered at the mocha-skinned police officer and tried to continue his pacing, only to find that his legs were hopelessly tangled in the cord, nearly making him topple onto the clean white tile. The officer laughed and Nigel had no qualms in giving him the one-finger salute, right as Nigel heard the heart-lifting _click_.

"Yeah."

"Bug! What the hell took you so long?"

"Nige, is that you?" asked Bug in disbelief.

"What do you think, you idiot? Yes, it's me!"

"You're supposed to be on an airplane!"

"Oh, _thank_ you, Solomon; I'd forgotten!" he snapped. "I'm obviously not; I'm still in Miami." After successfully untangling himself from the cord, he continued pacing back and forth in front of the table.

"You hate Miami," Bug said flatly.

"Stop stating the obvious! I know I hate it; it's humid and dirty and full of homeless insane and _get me out of here right now, you bastard!_"

"Did you miss the plane or something?"

The exasperation was shot down with the simple question. "Err, well," faltered Nigel, "you could say that, I suppose," he said, glancing at the police officer, who was incredibly and infuriatingly smug.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Bug said. "Where in Mosquito City are you?"

"Err… a, uh… a police department," he mumbled.

"_What?!_"

Nigel heard a snort from behind him, which he pointedly ignored.

"Nigel, what the hell are you doing in a police station?"

"Look, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," he said, pressing the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he clasped his hands together, even though he knew Bug couldn't see them. "I didn't do anything; I didn't kill anyone--"

"_Kill_ anyone?" Bug's voice sounded very high. "Nigel, tell me you're not being held in Miami as the suspect of a murder."

He raked a hand through his hair. "I can if you want me to, but it wouldn't be true."

"Eric, what do we have, here?"

When Nigel heard the new voice, he turned around. Standing in the door was a tall, sturdy man with reddish-blond hair and a pair of intense blue eyes that stopped him in his repetitive tracks. There was noise in his ear and subconsciously he knew that he should have been listening, but the man had his attention on a short leash, and he couldn't have looked away if he tried.

"Well?"

His eyes were drawn away. "Sorry. Well, what?"

"I asked what you were doing at the scene."

-- -- -- -- --

The car door slammed behind him and Horatio Caine was already halfway to the door. As he moved into the shade of the pavilion that shadowed the entrance, he pulled off his sunglasses and slid them into his breast pocket, using his free hand to push through into the foyer. Cold air rushed past him and knocked his hair away from his brow. He had missed everything, and everyone knew it.

Calleigh, ever prudent, was already striding down the hall to meet him, a clipboard held loosely in one arm against her chest. She had a vague sort of smile on her face as she said, "The sky must have been falling for you to have missed this one, Horatio."

"Don't rub it in," he said. "What have I missed?"

She nodded once and then motioned him to follow back down the hallway towards the centre of the building. "A man by the name of Francis Lovett was found dead in an abandoned factory off the edge of the glades," she said as she walked. "He was shot. There was another with him -- a woman, his wife, named Eleanor Lovett -- who had also been shot but who was still alive. The wife is at the hospital, and Alexx is performing autopsy on the body of her husband as we speak."

"Right, okay," Horatio said, absorbing the information without a hitch. "And where are we going now?"

"To the third person at the crime scene," Calleigh said, stopping on the hallway side of a glass interrogation room. "Go on in. Eric's with him now."

"Thank you, Calleigh," he said, turning his head towards the door before entering.

A handsome man with black hair was pacing back and forth across the floor, visibly nervous. "I didn't do anything," he said to the phone against his cheek, a British accent slanting his voice, "I didn't kill anyone--"

From his position, Horatio could hear a voice on the other end of the phone; one that made the man cringe. After a few moments of silence, the man said:

"I can if you want me to, but it wouldn't be true."

Seizing the momentary pause, Horatio interjected with, "Eric, what do we have, here?"

Eric was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He only spared one glance at him before returning his attention to the man, who seemed to be momentarily fixated on him. Horatio met the gaze unwaveringly, using the moment to do a basic personality analysis. He didn't falter under his stare, though his reaction was almost unreadable. Horatio had a difficult time discerning if the man was terrified or intrigued.

Suddenly, he looked away. "Sorry. Well, what?"

"He was at the scene. Did Calleigh fill you in?"

"She did," Horatio affirmed. "What do you make of him so far?"

"Not too sure," Eric said honestly. "He says his name is Nigel Townsend, from Boston. He claims to be here on a business trip, and that he got himself accidentally locked inside the crime scene where we found our victims."

"Indeed…"

-- -- -- -- --

"It's a long story," Nigel insisted emphatically. "Come on, don't you believe me?"

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to believe!" Bug said. "You had better start explaining whatever the hell mess you got yourself into, mate."

Sighing heavily, Nigel leaned against the cold metal table and rubbed his temples. "Okay, look," he said finally, relenting to the pressure. "The medical conference ended, and I had an hour before I had to be at the airport, so I figured that I'd get something to eat. I go to this weird little shop on the road to the airport and buy an ice cream cone, and when I come out, there were police surrounding my car!"

"Lord, Nigel, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" he cried defensively. "Well, I mean -- okay, I did do something, but it wasn't _criminal!_"

"You realise that Macy is going to eat you alive. What did you do?"

"I only--" He sighed out heavily. "Look, I just… I kind of -- forgot my green card in Boston."

"You _what?_" he demanded. "Nigel, how stupid can you get? How did you even get through airport security without it in the first place?"

"I can fake an American accent if I try!" he said.

"No, you can't!"

"Well, it _worked_, didn't it?" he snapped. "At least for the first bit. I thought that they'd done some weird security camera voodoo and figured out I was British by my clothing or something and so I just made a break for it. There was this broken down mill across the road so I just sort of snuck over there."

"With an ice cream cone."

"Yes, Bug, with a bloody ice cream cone!"

"That's _very_ subtle," he said, "you'd do James Bond proud."

"Do you want me to tell this story or not, wise-arse?" he challenged, making Bug sigh and go quiet. "Anyway, the door was all kinds of barricaded, so I went around the side, and I saw _blood_ dripping from a window, Bug -- _fresh_ blood. And I mean, I have a conscience, don't I?"

"Debatably."

"So I broke open the window," Nigel continued, gracefully ignoring the comment, "and climbed inside. There was a dead guy next to the window with a gunshot wound right above the left temporal lobe, and there was this other lady who was sprawled out across the floor. The guy was dead," he said, "and I went to check on the lady and she was awake! I asked her if she was okay and she _hit me!_"

"I guess it must have something to do with the constant humidity," Bug reasoned.

"I don't know, but she knocked me pretty well. I was sort of disoriented and dizzy for a while, then the next thing I know, there were sirens and EMT's and the whole nine yards."

Bug sighed. Nigel could hear the familiar rushing and clattering of their morgue's hallways as he thought in otherwise silence.

"Okay," he said finally, "okay, we'll come and get you. And we'll also bring your green card, you forgetful ponce."

-- -- -- -- --

"The guy was dead," he said, "and I went to check on the lady and she was awake! I asked her if she was okay and she _hit_ me!" Horatio waited through the pause. "I don't know, but she knocked me pretty well. I was sort of disoriented and dizzy for a while, then the next thing I know, there were sirens and EMT's and the whole nine yards."

Eric leaned over to him and murmured, "He sounds seasoned. He must be some sort of doctor." Horatio nodded and waited out the rest of the conversation.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, _thank you_," he said a moment later, sighing. "Oh, and bring a lawyer. Better yet, bring Jordan." He paused. "Well, she's never studied law, but she has a PhD in kicking arse and taking names, and trust me, that's what I need right now." He paused again. "So talk her into it! Tell her I'm here; you'll persuade her soon enough." He paused once more, and then said: "Okay… okay, I'm at the Miami Dade police centre. Yeah. Thanks so much, Bug. See you soon, God willing. Bye."

"Friends in Boston?" Horatio asked the minute Nigel hung up.

"Yeah," he replied weakly, pushing a hand through his hair again and sinking down in one chair.

"I'd ask you to relay the story," Eric said, "but it seems you've already done that. So let's get right down to the nitty-gritty, shall we?"

"Let me guess," Nigel sighed. "You," (he pointed to Eric) "are the good cop, and you," (he pointed to Horatio) "are the bad cop."

"We don't need a confession quite that badly," said Horatio evenly. "What we do need are a few answers from you."

"Ask away," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Do you know the couple?" asked Eric.

"No," Nigel said instantly. "I've never seen them before in my life."

"Tell us," Horatio said, "about what you saw at the scene. Anything specific?"

Nigel glanced to the side, sifting through his memory. "The angle of the shot was weird," he said finally. "On the man, I mean. It started at the left temple and had a sort of upward slant -- it was a through-and-through, right through the brain and out the top of the scalp."

"You seem to know what you're talking about," Eric said mildly. "Are you in this field?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Nigel said. "I'm a criminologist for Boston P.D., and in my humble-yet-doctorate-backed opinion, I'd say that whoever killed this guy knew him personally. It was at close range. Even for a gun, that says something."

"Indeed, it does," Horatio mused aloud. "What else did you notice?"

"The wife has a solid left hook," he grumbled, rubbing his right cheek, across which was a fresh, purplish bruise, "and they'd been there for a while."

"How do you figure?" Eric asked as he sank down into the seat across from Nigel.

"Well, _Livor Mortis_ had set in already," he said, "so that's -- what -- six hours, around about?"

"Something like that," Horatio said. "You do realise that we can't release you if you don't have your green card."

Sighing heavily, Nigel said, "Yeah, well, that'd be just my luck. But I reckon that Bug and Jordan will be here in a few hours. Doubtless they'll hop on the first plane to get me out of here." He smirked at Horatio, who gave him a thin sort of smile.

"Let's hope," he said.

The door opened again. A blonde woman had one hand on the door frame and a triumphant sparkle in her eye as she said, "H, we found our murder weapon."

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio took a moment to more closely study the man's face as he spoke. Mr. Townsend certainly was British; his speech patterns and vernacular were undeniably Londoner. His lank, black hair had a tendency to fall in his face, which he constantly pushed away. Sideburns ran down either side of his face, stopping just above his earlobe.

Perhaps even more interestingly, he had garnered one of Horatio's uncommonly sincere smiles. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he had a soft spot for English accents.

"Doubtless they'll hop on the first plane to get me out of here," he said to Horatio with a smirk.

"Let's hope," he replied.

The door behind him opened a split second later and he turned. Calleigh was standing in the threshold, smiling as she said, "H, we found our murder weapon."

"Have we, really?" he asked rhetorically. "That is excellent; take me to it. Eric," he said, "give this man back his personal effects and get his prints if you haven't already, okay?"

"You got it, H," he nodded.

"Thank you," he said before he headed back out the door, following Calleigh. "So, anything interesting about our gun?"

"You could say that," she replied as she strode down the hallway. "It's British make and model, thirty millimetre, manufactured in Liverpool."

"Indeed," Horatio said, mostly to himself, not missing the obvious connection between the weapon and the suspect. "Do we have any prints on it?"

"We do," she said, "and they're being run through the system as we speak."

"Excellent," he said as he followed Calleigh into one of the many labouratories. She walked around the counter and crouched down to produce a small plastic box, out of which she pulled a sleek, black gun.

"An officer found it in a garbage can out back of the factory," she explained.

"Not very clever," Horatio mused. "He left the weapon at the scene. Even if he was in a hurry, wouldn't it be easier to take it with him?"

"He could just be an idiot," Calleigh suggested.

"Or he could have an ulterior motive. Calleigh, swab it for epithelials and see if they match the fingerprints."

She studied him silently for a few moments. "You think the fingerprint was planted on the gun?"

"I think it's a possibility worth investigating," he replied. "Let me know of the results as soon as they're in, Cal, okay?"

"Will do," she said as Horatio turned and exited back into the hallway. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the crime scene," he answered right before the door closed.

-- -- -- -- --

"Well?" Nigel prompted. "You heard the kind man: give me back my effects."

Eric sneered. "Horatio is a lot of things, but I don't think 'kind' is the best term."

"Horatio?" he repeated, suddenly interested. "As in Horatio from Shakespeare's _Hamlet_?"

"The same. What about it?" he asked as he walked across the room to the small plastic bin that was waiting on the countertop. He grabbed it and walked back to Nigel.

"Horatio was the only character to survive the tragedy of _Hamlet_," Nigel said thoughtfully.

Eric paused, and then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. "Yeah," he said after a pause. "Yeah, that's Horatio, all right." He passed the bin over the table and Nigel caught it with one hand before he began to rummage through it and pull out his things. First his wallet, then his badge, and then his cell phone which went off the minute he picked it up.

He jumped at the suddenness of it, but picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Err, hi, Nigel… it's Bug. Look, I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"

Nigel cringed. This wasn't going to end well. "Better tell me the good news first."

"Well, err… it's snowing!"


	2. Air in Your Blood

The glare of the sun flashed off the surface of the water in the glades, casting a vague, trembling blaze of pale light on the wall of the mill. Behind the dirt and accumulating dust, Horatio could almost make out the ridges of the metal walls. Once in the shade, he pulled his sunglasses off and wrinkled his nose. There was a bitter smell hanging in the air, and he couldn't quite identify it.

"If you're wondering about the smell, it's rust."

"Rust?" Horatio asked. "Even in a place like this, there should be that much rust."

"The factory manufactured iron goods," the officer explained. "A hurricane tore through the building two years ago and flooded the place out. Apparently the insurance didn't cover the damage, so it just sat here for a while."

Horatio's eyes moved from left to right, across the expanse of dusty equipment, looming like sentinels in dark silhouette. He filed away the information and looked to a window on the west wall. True to Nigel's story, it was shattered and stained with blood that had oozed down the wall and pooled on the floor. It wasn't hard for him to imagine the man's body slumped beneath it.

"This window, "he said, moving towards it, "how was it broken?" Digging through his pockets, he eventually found a pair of nylon gloves, which he pulled on and used to sift through the dust.

"The bullet, we assume," said the officer.

"And have we recovered it?"

"Not yet; it's like finding a needle in a haystack." Horatio saw him nod toward the window. "There's a huge pile of scrap just past the wall. It goes on for almost a mile."

He looked up through the shattered glass and saw the pale silver wasteland that stretched almost to the far horizon and sneered. "Well, a metal detector is certainly out of the question," he said. "Keep searching; I'll have Calleigh do a bit of experimental research. I think I'll pay another visit to Alexx now," he said, "thank you, officer."

-- -- -- -- --

"And it seems like just another beautiful day here in Miami, but not so much for the rest of the country. We've got not one but _three _separate storms up the northern half of the East Coast, one in Maine, one in New York and one in Massachusetts. Each is giving at least five inches of snow, with the storm in Boston closer to seven…"

"I hate you," Nigel said to the television.

"… with airplanes denied landing access and airports closing down across the state, it's proving to be one hell of a storm…"

"I hate you," he repeated. "I hate the weather. I want to go _home._" He raked both hands through his hair and kept them there as his elbows rested on his knees. "Please, God, let me go home…"

The foyer of the Miami Dade police department was quiet and cool, and Nigel wasn't the only one watching Channel Four News at Three. A few people scattered around the makeshift seating area (twenty chairs lined up on opposite sides of a hallway) were also watching with detached interest, their minds clearly on other matters.

To his left, Nigel heard the sound of someone walking in his direction, but he was beyond caring. That is, until he was addressed specifically.

"Mr. Townsend."

Nigel looked up to find himself staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes. It was Horatio, his black blazer open and his hands on his waist.

"Yeah?" he asked, sitting upright.

"Your story seems to be holding up," he said simply, studying him like a bug under a microscope.

"I should hope so," he said, "because it's the truth."

"It certainly seems so," he relented. "However, there are still a few things I need to ask of you, since you're…" (he glanced at the television set briefly) "… apparently going to be here for awhile…"

He sighed. "Well, gives me something to do besides yelling at the telly."

"Yes. Follow me, please."

Nigel stood and, after brushing off his shirt, followed Horatio down the long, broad hallway. As he walked, he passed people in lab coats, who had clipboards against their chests and pens behind their ears. Nigel felt strangely at home.

They made it down to the end of the hallway and Horatio pushed through a pair of double doors that swung shut behind them. They seemed to be in a morgue, and a very nice one at that. He was so caught up in his surroundings that he didn't notice that which was right in front of him until it called his attention.

"Who's this, Horatio?"

Nigel turned around and saw a charming woman in full coroner garb, her dark hair falling in loose ringlets around her face. On her hands she had a pair of bloody nylon gloves and she was smiling. A body was lying on the autopsy table behind her, its abdominopelvic cavity open and nearly through with dissection, by the looks of it.

"Alexx, this is Nigel Townsend. Nigel, this is Alexx Woods, our coroner," Horatio said.

Smiling back, he took her hand. "How do you do?"

"Just fine, honey," she said. "British?"

"Yep. Raised in Kent."

"No kidding? I've got family there!"

"Do you? Whereabouts?" he asked.

"Just south of Dover, actually. You familiar with it?"

"I went to school there!"

"Excuse me," Horatio interjected in that voice that was soft enough to be non-confrontational but powerful enough to stop a herd of rampaging water buffalo in their tracks. "I did bring him here for a reason. Nigel," he said, "tell me again about your theories on the gunshot."

-- -- -- -- --

"Who's this, Horatio?" Alexx asked, a smile on her face.

"Alexx, this is Nigel Townsend," he replied, unhurried with the formalities. "Nigel, this is Alexx Woods, our coroner."

Unfortunately for Horatio, he hadn't quite realised how well they'd hit it off -- he'd forgotten that Alexx's aunt was British. He couldn't let this get too far; he was, after all, running on a schedule.

"Excuse me," he said in the middle of the rapidly blossoming conversation. "I did bring him here for a reason." He turned to Nigel and said, "Nigel, tell me again about your theories on the gunshot."

He watched Nigel glance down at the body thoughtfully, and then, as if he'd done it a thousand times, he used a thumb to pull back his right eyelid, then his left. "No dilations," he said. "Must not have been expecting the attack." Then he lifted the corpse's chin to examine the neck, the arms and the wrist. "No sense of struggle."

Alexx looked at Horatio. She was looking simultaneously surprised and pleased. When she looked back at Nigel, he was already inspecting the wound.

"Single shot to the head, point-blank range, puncturing the left temple and exiting through the superior, distal part of the skull -- through-and-through. Did you find any residue on him?"

Smiling again, Alexx said, "We sure did, sugar, right on the lobe; supporting the point-blank theory."

Nigel smirked. "The only anomaly, then, is the angle of the shot." He crouched slightly as if he was trying to look through the hole that the bullet left. "It's slanted upwards."

"Meaning…?" Horatio began.

"Well, it could mean lots of things," Nigel reasoned. "There's the 'our killer is a midget' theory, but that's not really so compelling."

"It could mean that our killer was holding the gun as such," Alexx suggested, bending her arm to about a forty-five-degree angle, with her upper arm pressed firmly against her side.

Nigel nodded slowly. "That seems to be in agreement with the angle of the shot," he said.

"It's an unusual way to hold a gun," Horatio mused. "It doesn't seem to be conducive to murder… unless…"

"Unless he was lowering the gun," Nigel finished, grinning. "He was lowering the gun, as if he wasn't going to fire, and pulled the trigger with the forearm pointed up."

Alexx was beaming. She turned to Horatio and said, "Can we keep him?"

Nigel laughed. "I'm like a puppy, but cuter _and _lower maintenance!"

After pulling off her gloves, she raised one hand to pat Nigel fondly on the head. "He followed me home," she crooned.

Horatio smirked. "I don't know about this, Alexx," he said. "Don't we have enough animals in the office with Eric around?"

She chuckled and shook her head, turning away and tossing the gloves into the garbage bin. "Well, he's certainly welcome in my morgue," she said. "Do you live here, honey?" Nigel shook his head. "How long are you staying, then?"

"No idea," he said glumly. "I want to go back to Boston as soon as possible."

"Boston?" she asked, turning to look at him. "That icebox? Nah… why not stay here, where the sun's always shining--"

"--and the mosquitoes are always biting; no, thank you, love."

Though she tutted, there was a poorly concealed grin on her face. "You're missing out, baby," she said as she turned on the tap and let water run over her hands as it warmed up. "You'd be very welcome in Horatio's team."

Nigel glanced at him, and Horatio made a point to keep a steady face. "Really?" he asked flatly.

"No comment," he replied. "In any case, he can't join now. He's a suspect of this murder."

The water shut off and Alexx turned around. "You're joking," she said.

"I wish he were," Nigel muttered. "Unfortunately, I was found at the crime scene -- but you can take my word when I say that I didn't kill this man. I don't even know who he is."

But they didn't have time to consider it, because a moment later, Ryan Wolfe was knocking on the door. Horatio turned around.

"Ryan," he greeted.

"H, Mrs. Lovett is awake."

-- -- -- -- --

"You're missing out, baby. You'd be very welcome in Horatio's team."

Something in the centre of Nigel's gut twisted a bit. He turned his head to look at him, but his face was completely blank. "Really?" he prompted.

"No comment," he said, making Nigel frown. "In any case, he can't join now. He's a suspect of this murder."

The water suddenly stopped as if reacting to the news. Alexx turned and watched him, her mouth slightly ajar. "You're joking," she said, and it was hardly a question.

"I wish he were," murmured Nigel, leaning back against a counter. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Unfortunately," he elabourated, "I was found at the crime scene -- but you can take my word when I say that I didn't kill this man." He gave the body a sideways glance. "I don't even know who he is."

A split second later, there was a knock. Nigel turned and saw a young man with one hand on the doorframe.

"Ryan," Horatio greeted.

"H," he said, "Mrs. Lovett is awake."

"Our vic's hubby?" Alexx asked.

"Afternoon, Alexx; and yes," he replied. "She had been fading in and out of consciousness for a while, but she seems to be completely awake and relatively lucid now. Do you want to question her?"

"Like you even have to ask," Horatio said. "Alexx, stay with Nigel. I don't think it'll be hard for either of you."

Alexx grinned. "I'll get right to it."

"Coolest assignment _ever_," Nigel said as they left, grinning from ear to ear.

"You bet it is." She went to pull on a new pair of gloves to seal the corpse back up. "So are you an M.D.?"

"No, though I have a PhD in criminology," he said, hopping up onto the counter and crossing his legs. "I work for the Boston PD, though, and over there, it doesn't take long to learn a thing or two about corpses."

"Boston PD, huh? Sounds exiting," Alexx said.

"No more exciting than life here, I'm sure." Nigel watched as Alexx stapelled shut the flaps of skin on the corpse's abdomen. It was then that something caught his eye. "Hang on a minute…"

Alexx didn't look up from what she was doing, but she did make a noise of recognition; a sort of "hmm."

"Hang on, hang on, hang on… stop the stapling." He slid off the counter and headed towards the body, but faltered before he touched the arm. "Err, where are the gloves?"

"Second drawer on the right," she said. "What is it?"

"The jugular," he said, opening the door and pulling on a pair of gloves. "Doesn't it look odd to you?"

"I can't see anything but the very tip of it," she said, peering at the base of the corpse's neck. "Though, now that you mention it, it does look--"

"Engorged." With a snap, he pulled the gloves down over his hand and then reached to the body, pulling the skin near the neck back slightly. "Uh-huh… I don't suppose I could borrow a scalpel?"

"Be my guest, honey," she said, clearly interested. He felt cool metal rest on his palm and he shifted it so the blade was pointing down. With careful precision, he slit up the skin and moved them aside.

"Engorged? It's downright swollen," she said when she could see what was beneath the skin. She pulled on a new pair of gloves.

"Swollen with what?"

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Nigel handed the scalpel back to Alexx, who carefully position the blade before drawing it down the long vein. Before it even moved a full inch, it suddenly began to bubble. They both stepped back.

"_Air?_"

Nigel frowned. "I've seen this before," he said. "It's really quite ingenious, putting air directly into the veins."

"Especially in the jugular. It'd kill you from the inside out," she said gravely.

"So the question becomes," said Nigel, leaning on the autopsy table with the weight on his palms, "did our victim die by gunshot, or by air injection?"

"We'll find out, and then we'll call Horatio."

-- -- -- -- --

The hospital was a ten-minute drive from the Miami Dade police centre, and in the sunlight, its white walls were almost painful to look at. Horatio was squinting even behind his sunglasses until he made it inside. After he put them away, Ryan was leading him down a series of tangled hallways.

When they made it to room 131-A, he heard the slow, rhythmic beeping of a life support system against the wall, right next to a bed. On the bed was a woman, perhaps in her mid-forties, with dark hair that fell in short, tattered curls. Until they had entered, she had apparently been staring at the wall motionlessly.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a cracked voice.

"Yes, you can," Horatio said, pulling back his blazer to brandish the badge on his belt. "My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine, and this Detective Ryan Wolfe; we're with the MDPD."

"Are you here to -- to investigate my husband's murder?"

"We are, ma'am," Ryan answered, "as well as your assault."

Her brown eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "All right," she said finally, though she didn't reopen her eyes. "What do you want to know?"

"First off," Horatio said, walking across the room to the end of her bed and putting his hands on the metal foot, "do you know who your attacker is?"

"No," she replied softly.

"Do you remember anything about them?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I do. He was tall, and he had a British accent."

Horatio frowned. What were the odds of two Englishmen in the same abandoned factory within a six-hour time span? This wasn't looking good for Nigel's story at all, but he kept silent.

"I don't remember much else, though. It was dark, and he told us to face away from him."

"Do you and your husband have any enemies?" Ryan asked. "Anyone who would hurt you?"

"I… I suppose so. My husband worked for a privately-owned international shipping company," she said, "and let's just say that it isn't a place where you make friends."

"I'm going to need you to write down their names, ma'am," Horatio said, nodding to Ryan, who went for his notepad and pen. He handed them to her, which she took after some hesitation. "Two more things. One -- would you mind if we searched your house?"

Her writing faltered but didn't stop. "No," she said. "That's fine."

He nodded. "And two, do you know many British people?"

"Of course," she said. "The company I mentioned is between the United States and England."

He raised his eyebrows. That certainly was interesting, not to mention good for Nigel. Before he could process it, however, his phone rang.

"Hang on," he said, reaching into his pocket and heading out of the room. Flipping it open in his hand, he said, "Yeah?"

"Horatio, it's Alexx."

"Hi, Alexx. What have you got for me?" he asked, closing the door.

"You aren't going to believe this," Alexx practically sang, the grin audible in her voice. "Our victim? The gun didn't kill him."

"Indeed. Then what did?"

"Here's the wild part…"


	3. Stars in Your Eyes

The address Mrs. Lovett gave them was right on the beach, in one of the swankiest resorts in Miami. The house was immense, made of dark red brick, with at least three stories and its back facing the ocean. He could see an exquisite sunset over the water that painted the sky with different shades of pink, orange and yellow.

"Nice place," Eric said approvingly. "Very high-class."

"Very," he agreed. "International trade supervision must pay well. Let's have a look inside."

Eric nodded and headed for the steps, shuffling around in his back pocket for the key. By the time he reached the door, it was in his hand and unlocking the dead bolt. He pushed it and it squealed on its hinges as it opened.

Inside the house looked like something out of a soap opera: the walls were tall and white, flanking an immense staircase that was wide at the bottom and narrowed as it went to the level above. Horatio pulled off his sunglasses and glanced from wall to wall.

"Yes, but are they _rich?_"

Horatio smirked. "The world may never know. First stop is the bedroom."

It didn't take them long to find it, since apparently it took up half the upper level. It was unsurprisingly clean and lavish, but there was one feature that stood out to Horatio:

"Two beds," he pointed out.

"What is this, 'I Love Lucy?'"

"Note quite," murmured Horatio, moving across the floor to a small desk, over which were at least ten degrees hanging on the wall. "Look at this," he said. "Diplomas -- masters, doctorate, from Harvard Medical, Oxford…"

"Was her husband a doctor?" Eric asked, standing over Horatio's shoulder and examining the diplomas for himself.

"Not her husband, but herself. They're all for her." Horatio frowned thoughtfully as Eric moved around the far half of the room.

"Two bathrooms, too," he said. "This is a loveless marriage if ever there was one."

He threw a glance at the two doors next to one another then headed into one. It seemed to be the wife's: it was decorated primarily in white and baby blue, with black-and-white photographs hanging on the walls. In most respects, it was an average, if high-end, bathroom, complete with a shower and a claw-footed bathtub. He glanced offhandedly at one of the pictures.

"Answer me something, Eric," he said.

"Yeah?"

"What kind of doctor," Horatio began, "has pictures of herself on stage?"

-- -- -- -- --

"… but by that time, of course, I figured out that I didn't even need it in the first place!" Alexx said over the music what was shaking the whole of the morgue. "Sure shows me."

"Yeah, well, what can you do?" Nigel asked. He speared a piece of apple pie with the plastic fork, watching from the counter as Alexx performed the autopsy on an older Asian man. "This pie is something else."

"Isn't it?" she said. "I tell you -- every time we get a new drug pitch, we all collectively gain three pounds just by looking at the food they bring."

"We're all going to hell for our diets, love, so there's no use in fighting it." He hopped off the counter and neatly carved off a corner as he headed over towards her, offering the piece. "Succumb to the carbs! They call to you!"

"Mmm-_mmm!_ Screw you, Atkins, you old fart!" She took the bite from the fork in her face and chewed happily. A split second later, however, she grinned and swallowed suddenly. "Oh, wait-wait-wait, favourite part!"

The song had nearly hit the one-minute mark, and together, in the middle of the morgue, they sang:

_It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy,_

_Something inching past the edge of reserve._

_Now through the lines of the cheap Venetian blinds,_

_Your car is pulling off of the curb_

They had a great time jiving in front of the examination table, Alexx with a scalpel and Nigel with a piece of pie. A few people stared as they walked past the glass door, but if either of the two noticed, they certainly didn't care.

_Just when you think you're in control,_

_Just when you think you gotta go, just when you gotta roll;_

_Oh, here it goes, here it goes, here it goes, again_

_Oh, here it goes, again_

_I should have known, should have known, should have known, again,_

_But here it goes again_

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and though it drew their attention, it didn't stop the music, the dancing, or the face-splitting grins. Horatio was framed in the light from the hall, his hands on his hips.

"Having fun?"

"Well, hey, Horatio!" Alexx said before laughing. "Yeah, we're doing just fine, thanks."

"Come to join the party?" Nigel asked.

"Not quite," he replied, reaching to the stereo and turning it down a few decibels. He then took a moment to examine the slice of pie in Nigel's hand before continuing with, "Just a question."

"Fire away," Alexx said.

"Any idea where you'll be staying?"

The smirk fell off his face instantly. "Shit," he mumbled, apparently realising it for the first time. "I don't have enough money for another night at the hotel…"

"Oh, honey," Alexx said sympathetically, "I'd invite you to my place, but my sister and her kids are staying for the weekend, and we don't have room."

He frowned thoughtfully. "It's okay, love," he said. "Though it is quite the predicament."

"There's always a holding cell," suggested Horatio, shifting his weight easily from one foot to the other.

"No," he said quickly.

"No?"

"No," he repeated. "No, that's not -- I can't stay in a cell."

Horatio raised on eyebrow. "Claustrophobic?"

"Yes, actually," he replied, squirming in his spot. "Deathly terrified. Known to go into panic attacks."

Horatio's brows knitted together. Even if he'd wanted to keep him in a cell, that was now against the law. He couldn't legally keep a claustrophobic in a ten-by-ten holding cell. Unfortunately, it didn't leave many other options.

"Okay," he said after a pause. "Okay, you can stay with me."

"With -- with you?"

"Sure," Horatio said with a nod. "I have the room, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, so why not?"

Blinking owlishly, Nigel couldn't seem to put together any form of coherent sentence for a few moments. Eventually, however, Alexx did it for him:

"Why, Horatio," she said, her Cheshire grin showing she was impressed, "how very chivalrous of you."

He cracked a smirk. "I do the best I can. So what do you say, then, Nigel?"

The question shook Nigel out of his stupor. "What? Oh, I -- you're sure it's not a problem?"

"None at all," he said. "Come on, this place is going to close soon, anyway."

-- -- -- -- --

"Be it ever so humble," Horatio said, slamming the front door behind him.

"This is _far_ from humble, mate," Nigel said, shrugging off his jacket and nosing around in the sleek, modern foyer. "Downright snazzy, this place. Very slick."

Horatio took his coat from Nigel and hung it up next to his own on the coat tree. "Glad you think so. For all the mortgage I pay on it, you'd think it was the Trump Mansion."

Nigel smirked. "I wouldn't stay in the Trump Mansion if you paid me," he said.

"Neither would I," admitted Horatio. "Hungry?"

"Famished."

"Then let's have at the kitchen."

Horatio led him through the far door, which swung open under his hands. Beyond there was a warm, homey, bright kitchen, with a theme of pale oak and white porcelain. Each surface seemed to glow in the light from the fluorescent bulbs built into the ceiling, and Nigel couldn't help but grin.

"You must be a decorator," he said.

"No, but my ex-girlfriend was," Horatio responded. "Help yourself to anything you can find."

"Famous last words," Nigel cackled, rubbing his hands together. With that, he headed across the room and peered into the nearest pantry as Horatio grabbed a skillet from a rack dangling above the flat black stove. He set it down on the left side nearest him and turned it on with a dial right above the oven door.

He was about to get the can of Pam from the cupboard when Nigel suddenly chimed in with, "Yes! Peanut butter and jelly! Now _that's_ what I'm talking about!"

Horatio looked over his shoulder, only slightly startled. "And here I was, about to sauté strips of chicken for an Alfredo dish."

Nigel made a "pfft" noise as he brought two jars, one light brown and the other dark purple, to the counter across from Horatio (the kitchen was set up so there was an "island" of counter in the centre of the room, with a table on one side). "Nah, every time I visit home, my mum always stuffs me with that sort of thing. Give me a good old fashioned sandwich any day."

"Each to his own," Horatio said, eyeing the slices of bread that Nigel was pulling from a bag.

"Truer words there never were. Where are the knives?"

"Second drawer to your left."

He heard the drawer open and close, and a moment later Nigel was spreading viscous violet jelly onto one of the bread slices. "Mmm. Fine dining at its _very_ best," he said approvingly.

Smirking, Horatio watched with a detached interest. Nigel set down the knife and went to move the slice of bread, succeeding in getting a dab of jam on his thumb. He raised it to his mouth and licked it off.

And Horatio really couldn't help but stare.

If Nigel noticed, he didn't comment. Wiping the knife off on the edge of the jar, he moved on to the peanut butter.

"So you've got yourself a pretty slick lab," Nigel noted, spreading a thin layer of peanut butter onto the other slice of bread. "Great equipment. I wish I could say the same for my lab back in Boston."

"We get good government funding," Horatio explained, finally pulling his eyes away from the finger. He turned and headed to his fridge, split vertically, and opened up the smaller of the two doors, pulling out a Styrofoam plate with strips of chicken, secured with Saran Wrap. "You don't have the same up there, then?"

"Not even close," he said. "It's not to say that our stuff is bad -- it isn't -- it's just not quite to this calibre."

"Well, maybe we get better equipment for tougher crimes," reasoned Horatio mildly, tearing off the Saran Wrap. "I can't speak for what happens in Boston, but down here, there never seems to be a cut-and-dry criminal case, at least not in CSI."

"Oh, we get tough crimes, all right," Nigel said as he put one slice of bread on top of the other. "I'm pretty sure I can take whatever Miami has to offer, at least until the storm in the northeast lets up long enough."

The chicken sizzled softly when it landed on the Teflon. Horatio glanced up briefly as he neatly speared another slice of the chicken breast. "You're sure?" he asked. "I've had plenty of employees who left because it was too much to handle."

Nigel raised his eyes from the sandwich, a small smirk playing on his face. "I can take whatever you dish out, _Lieutenant_."

"There's very little time to breathe," Horatio noted as he filled the skillet with strips of chicken. "It just keeps coming, over and over. It never lets up."

A raised eyebrow accompanied the smirk. "Maybe I like it that way. Fast-paced, zesty, never dull… sounds exactly to my taste."

Horatio's intense blue gaze met Nigel's unwaveringly. "Admirable," he said after a moment's pause. "Very admirable. But I think that if you ended up staying here, you'd be exhausted before too long. Miami has a tendency to do that."

"Maybe I would," Nigel said, "but that just adds to it, doesn't it? Waking up every morning, ready to take whatever the city might shove in my face…"

Horatio was beginning to wonder if they were talking about police work or sex. Either way, and for whatever reason, he didn't have much desire to end the conversation.

"Really," he said.

"Absolutely," Nigel countered immediately.

"Well, given the proper environment," he said, "I might think of taking you up on that offer."


	4. Method in Your Madness

Nigel's cell phone went off in the middle of the laugh track following yet another stupid joke on a rerun of _Gilligan's Island_. In the pre-dawn light that just barely filtered through the curtains, he almost couldn't find the sleek silver phone, but when he shoved one hand into the pocket of his coat, which was thrown over a nearby chair, he felt it brush his fingertips. A moment later, he was flipping it open.

"Yeah?"

"Nigel," said a female voice. "I thought you'd be awake."

"Good morning to you, too, Jordan," he replied, leaning toward the coffee table and grabbing a remote to mute the television, despite the fact that it was already on low volume.

"I am _so sorry_ about this, Nigel," she said quickly. "I couldn't believe it when I looked out the window of the office and saw a foot of snow on the ground. I could have sworn that the sky was clear when I looked out it the last time."

"Yes, well, you do have a tendency to get yourself buried in your work," he reasoned.

"Do not."

"Do, too."

"What is this, third grade?"

"You started it."

"Did not!"

"Did you call just to grovel and beg for my forgiveness or what?" he asked, leaning back on the leather sofa and resting the heels of his bare feet on the edge of the glass coffee table.

She sighed and said, "Yeah, mostly. And to tell you that this storm doesn't look like it's going to be going away anytime soon. It's been snowing non-stop since yesterday afternoon; there isn't a school, office, precinct or café that's open for miles, let alone an airport."

"Yeah, so I've heard form several sources…"

"You must be absolutely miserable."

Nigel paused for a moment. Was he miserable? Apart from the humidity -- which was almost unbearable -- he had a nice house to stay in, an interesting murder to investigate, and not to mention--

"Good morning. You're up early."

He turned his head with a jerk. Horatio was standing in the threshold of the den, fully dressed and with his hands on his hips. He seemed so utterly devoid of any early morning symptoms, to the point where Nigel could have convinced himself that Horatio could function without it.

"Oh, hi," he said, "good morning."

"Good morning to who?" Jordan asked, her voice in his ear. "Who's that?"

"It's, err -- it's Lieutenant Caine, he works with the MDPD. I'm sort of bunking with him, since Macy's obnoxiously tight wallet didn't give me enough for more time at the hotel," he said.

"Oh, yeah, well, Macy does that a lot and -- wait, 'bunking?'"

Nigel cringed. He had used the wrong word.

"Bunking, or _bunking_-bunking?" she asked, her voice full of twisted glee. "Nigel, you little scamp, did you really--"

"_No,_" he said sharply, "and I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't jump to conclusions!"

Thankfully, Horatio didn't question it. He merely raised an eyebrow and, when Nigel glanced up at him, pointed in the general direction of the kitchen and mouthed _"Breakfast?"_ In response, Nigel nodded and gave him a thumbs-up, mouthing _"Thank you"_ back at him. Horatio then smiled and headed out of the den again.

"Fine, fine," Jordan relented. "Forget I asked anything."

"Gladly. Now, when do you--"

"Is he cute?"

"_Jordan!_"

"I'm just asking! Is he?"

"That is--" Nigel stammered. "It's -- it's completely irrelevant."

"He is, isn't he?" Jordan said, the smirk almost audible in her voice. "Judging by your reaction, I'd say he's ten different kinds of hot. Let me guess -- blond hair?"

"Well, strawberry blond, actually, and--" Nigel cut himself off. "_Stop that!_"

Jordan was cackling. "Hell no, this is way too much fun. You always did have a thing for blonds, Nigel."

"Could we please get back to the topic at hand?" he said, highly nonplussed by her incessant questions. "All I wanted to know was what time you think the storm will end."

"Your guess is as good as mine," she replied. "But you know how Boston storms can be. At best, it'll be over by tomorrow, but I think more realistically, we're looking at about a week or so." Nigel sighed heavily. He knew she was right, but he feared he would be homesick before too long.

"Right," he said finally. "Peachy."

"At least you've got good company!"

"Shut up, Jordan."

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio pulled the sunglasses off his noise and folded them with one hand as they entered the shade of the dilapidated factory. He had since grown used to the overwhelming scent of rust and mould, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with it.

"Was Mr. Lovett shot after he was dead, Nigel?" he asked.

"Not according to the autopsy," he replied, kicking aside a gnarled sheet of metal.

"So how did he manage to survive long enough to die by embolism?" challenged Eric, who was on Horatio's other side and looking at Nigel as a Mary-Kay CEO might look on a feminist.

"It is possible to survive with a gunshot wound to the head," Nigel said, his feathers ruffled at the tone of the question. "Not for very long, usually, but it is possible. Moreover," he continued, "the angle of the shot was rather remarkable, seeing as it only passed through non-vital parts of the brain. Given a few hours, he probably would have died of blood loss."

"Which means that whoever injected the air into his veins was impatient," Horatio said, studying the bloodied windowsill again. "Okay, let's see if we can't go through this crime one step at a time."

"Re-enacting it?" Eric asked.

"Yes. I," Horatio began, "will be the shooter. Nigel, take the role of the victim, and Eric, take Mrs. Lovett." The other two nodded synchronously.

"We know they came in through the back door," Eric said, "since the front entrance was barricaded."

"And Mrs. Lovett mentioned that the shooter made them turn away from him," Horatio continued, "which means that he probably pushed them in from behind."

"So the Lovetts were pushed in first," Nigel said, heading in the general direction of the back door for a few steps before turning and walking slowly towards the window. "The shooter was behind them. Would he waste time?"

"Not if he bothered to take them all the way here," Eric said.

"Do we know who he shot first?" Horatio asked, moving behind Nigel and Eric.

"Based on the amount of blood, I think it's fair to say that Mr. Lovett was the first victim," replied Nigel.

"Okay. Assuming that the shooter lowered the gun _before _he fired," Horatio said, "we knew that something went on between when they entered and the first shot."

"Were I in that position, I would probably turn around…" Nigel guessed, doing so.

"Assuming that you were going to attack," said Horatio, "I would raise the gun." He raised his own gun for realism and pointed it in Nigel's direction.

Nigel nodded. "Surprised, he would have stumbled back, perhaps against the window." Nigel carefully stepped backwards and braced himself against the windowsill.

"I think any wife's first reaction would be to try to take the gun," Eric said, moving towards Horatio and grabbing the gun with both hands.

"And any shooter's first reaction would be to strike the wife away." Horatio made a swiping motion with his arm, stopping before connecting with Eric's cheek. "And that explains the minor bruising around her face."

"So she falls," Eric said, looking down behind him, "and hits her head on what looks like a thick PVC pipe. That could easily cause unconsciousness."

"But I didn't find her there," Nigel interjected. "She was over in this area, closer to her husband."

Horatio nodded. "So she didn't loose consciousness, but there's a chance she was momentarily disoriented, giving the shooter time to turn his attention back to the husband."

"The shot was close range," Nigel said, "so he wouldn't have stayed over there."

"The shooter comes over," agreed Horatio, moving across the floor towards him, "with the gun out and cocked."

Nigel paused thoughtfully, considering the situation. "Were it me, I," he said, "would grab the gun." When Horatio was close enough, Nigel closed his hand around the one clutching the gun.

"I would try to pull it away, and start a struggle," Horatio deduced, pulling the gun back.

"The husband would probably refuse to release the gun, and pull back." Nigel, with his grip tightening around Horatio's hand, yanked him forward.

It was a combination of gravity and Nigel not knowing his own strength that ended up pulling Horatio a few steps forward and promptly had him body-to-body against Nigel. It was rather difficult to ignore the heat and the friction that ended up as an immediate result of the contact, not to mention how their faces where all but two inches apart and directly across from one another. Horatio could just feel Nigel's breath ghosting against his mouth.

If either of them wanted to move, it certainly wasn't apparent.

Eric cleared his throat loudly.

Instinctively, Horatio took a step back, and his mind immediately returned to the subject at hand; it seemed as though it hadn't happened at all.

Nigel, on the other hand, was staring like a deer in headlights, which Horatio noticed, or rather, had a difficult time _not _noticing.

"A struggle," Horatio said, "and then he shoots the victim." He raised the gun to Nigel's head and said, "Bang."

Nigel shook himself. "Err -- victim falls, bullet goes through the window, and he collapses underneath the windowsill, but he doesn't die."

"This leaves the killer to the wife," Horatio said, turning towards Eric. "She had one wound to the shoulder, correct? So, he shoots -- bang."

"She must have been coming towards him to be where she ended up," Eric said. "Maybe she was coming up from behind."

"No," he said. "No, that would have left spatter behind her; it was a through-and-through. Instead, we have spatter in the _opposite _direction." Horatio motioned to the v-shaped pattern of red specks on the floor.

"So he was behind her when he shot?" Nigel asked.

"Must have been; there's no other explanation, is there?"

"How could he have managed that?" asked a perplexed Eric.

Horatio fell silent as a thousand theories surfaced to his mind. "She was kneeling at her husband, maybe. But if that were the case… if that were the case, why wouldn't he shoot her there?"

Silence.

"Gentlemen, I think it's time to pay another visit to Mrs. Lovett."

-- -- -- -- --

"It doesn't prove anything," Eric said firmly the minute he closed the door to the Hummer.

"Eric, he presented a theory," Horatio said. "What sort of a criminal presents a theory to a crime he supposedly committed?"

"One that wants to cover his own arse."

Horatio's hands tightened almost imperceptibly around the steering wheel. "He's innocent, Eric, and I'm not entirely sure why you're so gung-ho on not believing it. Look at it logically -- he shoots the husband, shoots the wife, goes outside to dump the gun in the trash and then comes _back in?_ It doesn't make sense."

Eric frowned, his brow creasing in parallel lines. "I don't like him, Horatio."

"That much is evident," Horatio said, turning the key in the ignition and shifting the Hummer into reverse. "Like it or not, you're stuck with him until the storm in Boston dissipates, and so far he's been an excellent resource on the case." He turned over one side of the seat and backed out of the parking space.

"If he's all that and a bag of chips, why not just hire him?" challenged Eric, his voice laced with sarcasm. Ironically, the question caused Horatio to pause.

"Why not, indeed?"


	5. Butterflies in Your Stomach

"I'm getting the subtle impression that your detective doesn't like me," Nigel said.

He was sitting cross-legged on Horatio's kitchen counter, a plate of linguine al dente with broccoli and snow peas balanced precariously in his lap. Horatio wasn't much better, leaning against the same counter a few feet away, idly prodding at a plate of his own with a fork. The gleaming fluorescent light glared down on the clean linoleum, giving the whole of the kitchen a sense of cool sterility.

"Eric doesn't trust easily," Horatio said. "Well, unless it comes to women, in which case he trusts a bit _too_ easily."

Nigel laughed.

"Don't get me wrong; Eric is a good guy, and a very good detective. He just happens to have a strong affinity for women." He pulled a stalk of broccoli with a piece of linguine dangling from it and put it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"How did the interview go with Mrs. Lovett, by the way?" he asked.

"It didn't," Horatio replied. "She'd been released a few hours before we arrived. If we'd had the time, we would have found her house, but it was getting late."

"Bummer."

"Very much so. We'll find her tomorrow, though," he said.

"Mind if I tag along?" asked Nigel, a sort of grin curling one edge of his mouth.

"Not at all," he responded. "Having you tag along seems to be good for the case, from what I've observed thus far."

Nigel beamed. "Keep on saying things like that and people will suspect things."

"Welcome to Miami," Horatio said with a smirk. "The land of no secrets and no shame."

"Oh, come on, now," Nigel said, "you're more negative about it than I am. And I'm quickly finding that there are precious few redeeming qualities about this city, so that's saying quite a bit, considering."

"And what does a Bostonian see as positive about Miami?" asked Horatio. "Eager readers want to know."

"Well," Nigel began, "if you ignore how bloody humid it is, it's very pretty."

"Mhm."

"And it's certainly not boring, either. Why, just yesterday, when I went out to lunch, I was approached by a stinky homeless man who asked me if I knew the way to the Mary Poppins factory luncheon."

Horatio laughed. "Yeah, you get a lot of that in Miami," he said as he speared another snow pea.

"You lot have interesting folks here, too," Nigel pointed out, waving his fork vaguely in Horatio's direction. "I absolutely _adore_ Alexx; she's just a doll."

"She seems equally fond of you, as well," Horatio said.

"That Eric fellow would be tolerable if he weren't so ready to arrest me for looking at him the wrong way," Nigel said under his breath. Horatio sneered, but really couldn't help but agree; he made a mental note to talk to Eric about that.

"There are still a few others of the team you haven't met yet. You saw Calleigh briefly; she's our resident 'bullet girl.' Then there's Speed, another detective…"

"I'll see them all eventually. But you, my friend," he said, pointing a stalk of broccoli at him in an accusatory manner, "you win the prize."

"For what?"

"General awesomeness," Nigel replied offhandedly. "You've got a very slick 'smooth criminal' thing going on. Though I guess in your case it would be 'smooth Lieutenant,' though that really just doesn't have the same ring to it." Nigel leaned towards the sink and put his since emptied plate into the left basin.

He saw Horatio's hand curl around the edge of the sink, and he looked up, meeting the familiar blue stare.

"I get a prize for that?" he asked, close enough for Nigel to feel his breath.

Nigel's reaction was surprisingly calm. He studied Horatio's face for a moment before saying, "Yeah. So, what's it going to be? Door number one, door number two, or door number three?"

"Which one," Horatio began, "will bring you about two-and-a-half inches closer?"

"Trick question," Nigel murmured. "All of them." He raised one hand, snaked it through Horatio's hair, and pulled him into a kiss.

With such a fine-tuned reaction time, it barely took Horatio a split second to react, and when he did, it was with full force. Abandoning his plate in the sink on top of Nigel's, he reached up with both hands and tangled them in Nigel's hair, as the hand on the back of Horatio's head moved down towards the junction of his neck and shoulder.

It wasn't long before Nigel was sprawled out across the counter beneath Horatio, the wet, open-mouthed kisses heavy against his lips and moving slowly downwards towards his neck. Nigel was making noises that could only be considered positive, his fingers scrabbling for the fabric of Horatio's sleeves.

Horatio, meanwhile, was savouring the subtle taste of the skin that covered the lines of Nigel's neck. One hand in his hair moved down his body, the fingertips grazing over the fabric on the side of his stomach, into which Nigel arched hungrily.

Then Nigel's cell phone went off, and the shrill ring had never been less welcome.

Closing his eyes, horrified, Nigel could only say, "_Shit._"

Horatio was cringing, too. "What apt timing," he murmured against Nigel's collarbone as the phone reached its second ring.

"I'm sorry," Nigel groaned. "This could actually be important--"

"I understand. _Trust _me, I understand," sighed Horatio. "It's fine, go ahead."

Highly peeved, Nigel sat up and rummaged through his jean pocket, producing his cell phone. On the front screen, he read "JORDAN."

"It's Jordan," he growled before he flipped it open. "You had damn well better be _bleeding on the floor._"

"And a very happy Wednesday to you, too," said the familiar voice. "Jesus, what did I do?"

"You -- _that's none of your business_," he snapped. "What do you want?"

"Nigel, are you okay?" she asked. "You sound out of breath."

"I've been -- never mind, I said it's none of your business. Answer my question! What do you want?"

"Just wanted to say hi," she mumbled. "From Bug, Woody, Macy the rest. Wanted to make sure that the humidity wasn't driving you insane, but it's apparently too late for that."

"Good. Can you go now?"

"Well, now I _have_ to know what's going on," was Jordan's peeved response. "What has gotten you so--"

In the midst of his mild agitation, he hadn't noticed Horatio nudge one knee aside and gently move forward, his arm slipping around his waist. He barely noticed anything until he felt a mouth on the side of his neck, which interrupted Jordan's question with a breathy moan.

She faltered. "Err, Nigel?"

"Just hang up on her if it isn't important," Horatio muttered against the dip near his collarbone, warm breath pooling on the skin.

"Yeah, I -- uh --" Nigel swallowed heavily and arched against Horatio's ministrations. "Jordan, I'm going to -- I'll have to call you back…" He felt Horatio's hands ghosting across the skin just beneath the hem of his shirt and he nearly broke his back by trying to gain more of the touch.

"Call me back?" repeated Jordan. "Okay, I guess. Hey… wait a minute, _are you--?_"

"RightJordanseeyoulaterokay_bye._"

He snapped the phone shut and tossed it behind him onto the couch on the other side of the counter. Not half a second later, Horatio jerked Nigel forward, full-on against him, successfully pulling him off the counter and into something that resembled standing. In the dizzy heat of the moment, Nigel was rapidly losing his balance, and saw it appropriate to stagger a few steps back and fall against the wall, pulling all of Horatio's weight down against him: one-hundred-and-seventy pounds of pulsing warmth, and what felt like very noticeable arousal.

"Bedroom," whined Nigel.

"Now," agreed Horatio.

However, they didn't quite make it to the bedroom. In fact, they barely made it halfway up the steps before gravity got the best of them, sending them crashing down against the thankfully carpeted steps, which managed to keep pain at bay. Even if it had severed Nigel's spinal cord, though, it was doubtful that he would have cared: he pulled Horatio down against him and kissed him heavily, raising his hips. Horatio met the movement halfway, pressing his pelvis back down against Nigel's in such a way that, had there not been fabric between, it would be skin-on-skin.

Fabric or no fabric, the tension was there; the friction, the heat, that had Nigel almost buckling in half. Even Horatio had a great amount of difficulty biting back a heavy moan, and he usually had a shatterproof mask that was crumbling away. He couldn't exactly say that he'd done something like _this_ before. But now that he had, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do without it.

He drew back his hips slowly and pushed forward, another pulse of friction raking across his body. Nigel shuddered and his head fell to one side, exposing the shallow dips. Horatio kissed across them gingerly, his fingertips barely caressing down towards his waist.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Both of them were completely still, as if trying to convince themselves that it they weren't hallucinating.

"Oh, this is so not happening," Nigel groaned.

"Somebody up there has got it in for us," Horatio said, before looking over his shoulder and saying, loudly, through the door, "_What?_"

"H, it's Eric. Open up, this is important."

"It had damn well better be," snarled Nigel as Horatio pulled himself upright and adjusted the skewed collar of his shirt. As Nigel grabbed the banister, aiding himself to stand, Horatio headed across the foyer and pulled the door open.

The first thing Horatio saw was Eric. The next thing he saw was a little girl.

"Ho-- Hora-- Horatio Caine?"

-- -- -- -- --

Nigel almost couldn't see past the white light of the friction between them. He felt Horatio's mouth against his neck and arched up against it--

--right as the doorbell rang.

His eyes snapped open and for a few moments, he was silent.

"Oh, this is so not happening."

"Somebody up there has got it in for us," said Horatio, his voice coated in all kinds of bitter resentment. He looked over his shoulder and said, "_What?_"

"H, it's Eric," said an all-too-familiar voice from the door. "Open up, it's important."

Perfect, Nigel thought, it was Captain Unjustified Anger. "It had damn well better be," he said under his breath as Horatio stood and adjusted his collar before opening the door.

Even from his angle, Nigel could see Eric. Accompanying him was a small girl, who looked battered, bruised and was shaking like a leaf. She was clinging onto the side of Eric's shirt, but her attention was squarely on Horatio.

"Ho-- Hora-- Horatio Caine?" she stammered, her soprano voice slanted with a French accent.

"I--" Clearly, Horatio was taken aback, but to be fair, so was Nigel. "Yes," he said after a moment. "Yes, that's me. Eric, who is this?"

"I don't _know_," he replied, exasperated. "She doesn't speak a word of English; she showed up at the crime lab asking for you! Tell me you know her."

"I've never seen her before," Horatio said. "_¿Hablas español?_"

The girl stared at him for a moment, and then shook her head. "_Non,_" she said. "_Français ?_"

"Oh, great," Eric moaned. "She speaks French. I don't think we have any French translators on hand; we've never needed them."

"I speak French," Nigel interjected, causing all eyes to turn on him. "What? I do. I took lessons in school."

"Okay, then could you ask her what her name is?" Horatio asked.

"Yeah, sure." He headed over to the girl and knelt down to her level. "_Tu vas bien, cherie ? Tu t'appelles comment ?_"

"Lisette," the girl replied.

"_Voilà le prenom, mais c'est quoi, ton nom de famille ?_" Nigel asked.

She paused, but shook her head a moment later. "_Je n'en ai pas,_" she replied.

Nigel was startled. "She says she doesn't have a surname," he said, glancing up at Horatio. "What do you suppose that means?"

"I don't know. Let's get her inside for now," Horatio said, pulling the door open further and ushering Eric and Lisette inside. He showed them into the cosy-yet-modern den, furnished with white furniture and a long, glass coffee table. Eric sat her down on one end of the couch and Horatio went out to find a blanket to help the shivering.

"Ask her if she's hurt," Eric said to Nigel.

"_Es-tu blessée ?_" Nigel asked to the girl, who shook her head. "_Alors, porquoi tu trembles ?_"

"_J'ai froid,_" she replied simply.

"She says she's not hurt, just cold," he said, looking up at Eric. "Not sure I believe her, though. No one trembles that much just because they're cold."

Eric nodded shortly. "Sounds more like hypothermia to me. She refused medical attention, though. She just kept asking for Horatio. Could you ask her about that?"

"_Porquoi tu cherches Horatio ?_" he asked the girl.

"_Il n'est pas policier ?_"

"_Si, mais--_"

"_J'ai besoin de la protection,_" she whispered. "_Je l'ai entendu, le nom. J'ai quittée la maison, et je n'ai personne pour m'aider._"

Nigel stared blankly at her.

"What did she say?" Eric prompted after a brief pause.

"She said… she said she needs protection. She heard Horatio mentioned -- she ran away from home, and she has no one to help her."


	6. Twist in Your Crime

Horatio was amazed at just how difficult it was to find a blanket in his own home. Had it really been so long since a child had been here? He eventually took the comforter from his own bed for lack of better option and carried it back down the steps into the den.

He saw Nigel crouching down in front of the girl, a look of pure concern on his face. He was speaking to her in quiet French as Eric sat next to her and tried to make something of the conversation. Horatio came up from behind with the comforter and gingerly laid it on her shoulders. She flinched away for a moment, but eventually relaxed and pulled the blanket more tightly around her.

"Do we know what she's doing here?" asked Horatio, coming around to the front of the couch as Nigel looked up at him.

"Not entirely, no," he said.

"Could you as her where her home is?"

He nodded and turned to the girl. "_C'est où, ta maison ? C'est loin d'ici ?_"

"_Je ne sais pas,_" she said. "_Où suis-je ?_"

Nigel blinked, apparently startled. "_Tu es en Floride,_" he replied, but the girl didn't seem to be following him. "_Aux Etats-Unis ?_"

She looked down. "_Bon. Voilà ma destination. J'habitais au Québec._"

"She says she lives in Quebec," Nigel said. "Not surprising. Her accent is very Quebecois. And she says she wanted to com here."

"How did she get here?" Horatio asked.

"_Comment est-ce que tu es venue ?_"

"_Aux Etats-Unis ? Je suis allée par avion._"

"_Et ici ?_"

"_J'ai marché._"

"She got to the States by plane," Nigel translated, "and got here on foot."

"Why did she run away?" Eric asked.

"_Pourquoi as-tu quittée la maison ?_"

The girl started to shake again. Her dark hair was curtaining either side of her face, and she was looking so far down that her chin was nearly touching her chest.

"_Cherie ?_" prompted Nigel.

"_Parce que je le déteste,_" she said after a moment. "_Je suis restée là il y a dix ans. J'ai dû de quitter. Ils me touchent, tous les hommes. Ils me font mal. Les autres, aussi. Ils…_"

She broke off and completely doubled over, her shoulders shaking erratically. Eric put a hand on her back. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay…"

Horatio glanced at Nigel, who was white as a ghost.

"Oh, God," he said. "She works in a prostitution ring."

-- -- -- -- --

In the middle of her French, she suddenly broke off. Nigel couldn't believe his ears: _'I had to leave. All those men touched me. They hurt me.'_ It was as unmistakable as it was inherently chilling. She couldn't have been a day over fourteen.

"Oh, God," Nigel whispered, sinking back on his haunches. "She works in a prostitution ring."

Eric's head snapped up. "What? No, she's too young for that."

"Not willingly, obviously," Nigel said, looking up at him. "My guess is it's some sort of underground organisation, on that borders on paedophilia."

"Ask her the name of the ring leader," Horatio said.

"_Comment ça marche? Est-ce qu'il y a un homme qui te fait faire ces choses avec les autres hommes?_"

Her hand tightened around the edge of the blanket. "_Oui. Il s'appelle La Hire. Je ne le sais pas, le vrai nom._"

"'La Hire,'" Nigel said. "That's the French equivalent for the Jack of Hearts, as in the deck of cards. It's an alias."

"La Hire?" repeated Eric. "Wasn't that a famous commander in the fifteenth century?"

"During the Hundred Years' War, yes," Horatio said, looking thoughtfully at the bookshelf though it was evident that he wasn't really seeing it. "His real name was Etienne de Vignolles, and he fought alongside Joan of Arc."

"You certainly know your European history," Nigel pointed out, impressed. Horatio gave him a dry smile.

"Well, Europe is where the history comes from. If we're looking for the leader of this prostitution ring, whose name is La Hire, there's a very good chance that there is also a Joan of Arc."

"Prostitution rings aren't usually run by only one person," Eric agreed.

"So we're trying to find a La Hire and a Jeanne D'arc. How very fitting," mused Nigel out loud.

"I can do a search on rings run by someone with the alias 'La Hire,'" Eric offered, looking away from Lisette and up at Horatio, who nodded at him.

"That would be good. For now, though, I think it's best if we keep her at the precinct. She'll be safe there, at least," Horatio said. "Could you ask her if that would be all right?"

Nigel looked back at her. "_Ca te dérange si tu restes au enceinte de policier ?_"

She swallowed visibly. "_Je suis venue pour être protegée par Monsieur Caine,_" she said. "_Il est le seul qui peut le faire._"

Horatio gave Nigel a puzzled look. "She says she came here to be protected by you," Nigel translated. "She thinks you're the only one that can do it."

"Tell her that I'm not the only one," Horatio said, "and that there is a building full of other police officers who are willing to keep her safe."

"_Il n'est pas le seul,_" Nigel said to her. "_Il y a beaucoup de policiers qui peuvent te protèger._"

"_Mais il est le meilleure !_" the girl insisted urgently. "_Madame l'a dit !_"

Nigel blinked. "_Madame ? Qui est Madame ?_"

"_La femme que travaille avec La Hire,_" she said.

"Well, we've found our Joan of Arc," Nigel said. "She just told me that a woman who works with La Hire called you the 'best' policeman."

"How would she know that?" Eric asked.

"Apparently," Horatio said, "she knows me. So the question becomes _how_."

-- -- -- -- --

"Well, we've found our Joan of Arc," Nigel said after the girl had finished. "She just told me that a woman who works with La Hire called you the 'best' policeman." He glanced up at Horatio as Eric posed a question to him.

"How would she know that?"

"Apparently she knows me," Horatio said slowly. "So the question becomes _how_."

"Have you made any friends in the sex trafficking business?" Nigel asked.

"Yes, but none of them were francophone," he replied. "At least, not to my knowledge." He didn't want to waste much time dwelling on it, however. "Right, okay. Nigel, here's what I want you to do. Go online and find any information you can; the password to my desktop is 'rigor mortis.'"

"_'Rigor mortis?'_"

"Easy to remember," he said with a shrug. "Eric, let's both go back to the crime lab. We can drop her off at the precinct on the way. How do you feel about getting some overtime in?"

"For something this twisted, you wouldn't even have to pay me," Eric replied, standing.

"Good. Let's go, then. What's French for 'let's go?'"

"_'Allons-y,'_" Nigel replied before he addressed the girl. "_Lisette, Monsieur Caine et Monsieur Delko va t'amener au enceinte de policier._"

She looked very apprehensive. "_Il me cherchera,_" she said. "_La Hire me cherchera._"

Nigel shook his head. "_Tu iras bien, je te jure,_" Nigel replied, putting one hand on her shoulder. "_Horatio Caine est tout à fait le meilleur policier de Floride, et s'il dit que l'enceinte de policier est sans danger, c'est sans danger._"

Horatio had taken only one year of French in high school, and only because it was required to get a diploma, so what little knowledge he had was rusty. However, he was fairly sure that he had just received an enormous compliment. And for some reason, coming from Nigel, it was different from the others.

"_Alors, vas-y,_" he said, making a gentle shooing motion. "_Et bon chance._"

She nodded hesitantly then slowly stood up. Horatio put one hand gently on her back and ushered her into the foyer again, Eric behind him and Nigel taking up the rear.

Horatio turned to Eric. "Go ahead and take her to the car, I'll be right with you." Eric nodded and pulled the door open, leading her out and closing it behind him. Horatio then looked back at Nigel, whose hands were buried in his pockets and who had a small smile on his face.

"So do you think the interruption was worth it?" he asked.

"Barely," he replied. "Just barely. There weren't a lot of things I would have stopped for."

"Yeah, well," Nigel said, pushing his hair out of his face with one hand, "like you said, it seems like someone up there has it in for us tonight."

"Let's hope it's only tonight," Horatio said, smiling. "I'll probably be back late. Don't wait for me, okay?"

"No promises. I'll see you when I see you."

He nodded and pulled open the door. However, before he'd set one foot outside, he'd stopped. A moment later, he sighed, closed the door and turned around. Then he grabbed Nigel by the collar and kissed him.

Nigel was quick to respond: he laced one arm around his neck, and Horatio could feel the growing smirk on his lips as the kiss deepened for a few blissful seconds, then slowly dissipated.

"One for the road, let's call it," Horatio murmured against Nigel's mouth.

"You can call it anything you want," Nigel responded. "Good luck."

Horatio smiled again. "Good night." He grabbed his coat, shrugged it on and vanished through the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Miami nights were neither dark nor cool: the light from the nearby metropolis never seemed to really go out, leaving a vague haze of light hovering above the trees. And since winter was a few hours on some Thursday evening in early January, they rarely dropped below seventy degrees, and that was fine by him. Having spent a good portion of his life in the dank, often rainy New York City, the constant warmth was hardly unwelcome.

Eric had just closed the driver-side door to the Hummer and started it up. A moment later, Horatio joined him in the passenger seat and pulled on his seatbelt.

"So," Eric began, "how are you and the Brit getting along?"

"Swimmingly," he replied simply. "Thanks for your genuine concern. And he does have a name, you know."

"I know," he said flatly. "I just can't bring myself to say it."

"You absolutely baffle me, do you know that? I can't fathom why you're so opposed to him. Sure, he's irreverent, sarcastic and generally a bit odd, but he's a good guy," Horatio said.

"Yeah, a bit too good for my liking," Eric said as he pulled the Hummer into a three-point turn to get out of the driveway. "If I don't trust him enough, then you trust him too much."

Horatio paused to consider the words. As a cop, one of his best assets was his instinct, and each and every one of them completely trusted Nigel -- granted, he didn't have any idea why, but that was usually the _modus operandi_ of instincts in general. He didn't usually trust very easily at all, and something about Nigel gave him full confidence in him.

No, Horatio didn't trust him too much. He trusted him no more or no less than he deserved, he decided as they pulled onto the freeway, and Eric should have known that. Which only left one conclusion to be drawn.

"Eric, are you jealous?"

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It's not as if he's stealing me away, Eric," he said. "This job and this team are and have always been one of the most important things in my life. You know that."

He sighed as he flicked on the blinker to change lanes. "Yeah, I know," he said after a moment.

"If you know it, then believe it. I do like Nigel, and I won't lie to you -- God willing, if he wants a job here in Miami, there's no way I'd deny him," he said calmly. "But the only thing that means is that I trust him, just as much as I trust you, or Calleigh, or Alexx, or anyone else on the team."

He drummed his fingernails on the steering wheel, and Horatio could tell by the look on his face that he was processing the information that he'd just given him.

"So just try to get along with him. And if you can manage it, try to like him. For my sake if no one else's."

Eric sighed, but he nodded. "Right. For your sake."

Horatio smiled. "Good."


	7. Face in Your Crowd

Tim Speedle seemed to be asleep sitting up: slouched back in his computer chair with his eyes closed in the middle of the dark lab, he seemed completely oblivious to everything around him. His face was illuminated by the glaring white of the computer screen, which was flashing the green word "MATCH" over and over again. He was even snoring softly, his shoulders moving to the rhythm of his breath.

Horatio glanced at Eric, who appeared to be thinking the same thing.

"Speed," Horatio said quietly. It didn't wake him.

"Yo, Speed," Eric said a bit louder, coming up from behind and shaking his left shoulder.

Speed awoke with a jerk and a garbled "hum" sound. "Wh-what?"

"Speed, what are you doing here?" Horatio asked.

"Do you have a life or what?"

"Huh? I uh--" He turned around in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Oh. Uhm, hi. What time--?"

"Quarter past eleven," Horatio answered. "You should probably be home. I'm amazed no one bothered to wake you up sooner."

"I was just, uhm…" he began, turning back to face the screen, "I was doing a search -- oh. It's done."

"Well, when you fall asleep for four hours, the world doesn't stop turning," Eric said, glancing down at the screen. "AFIS?"

"Yeah. I printed the corpse on the Lovett case; the guy just doesn't sit right with me." He yawned as he reached to the mouse and opened up the file the match. "Let's see, here… Francis Lovett. Dual citizenship in America and Great Britain -- holy shit…"

"Look at that rap sheet," Eric said, eyeing it. "Scroll down."

Horatio watched as Speed moved down the long list. "Tax evasion, 1976; tax evasion, 1977; tax evasion, 1978; '79…"

"I'm sensing a subtle pattern," Speed mumbled.

"Tax evasion usually isn't just tax evasion," Eric pointed out. "Remember Al Capone? He was arrested for tax evasion, too, but that certainly wasn't his only crime."

"Indeed. Where was he arrested?" asked Horatio.

Speed tapped a few keys before replying with, "Daytona Beach, for everything up until last year. I guess they moved down to Miami in 2005."

"I have connections in Daytona," Horatio thought out loud. "I'll give her a call tomorrow morning. She might know something about this guy; it might give us a lead."

"Based on this rap sheet, I'd say every cop in Daytona Beach knows him," Speed said.

"Don't spend too long on the phone, H," Eric said, turning to him. "We're going to Mrs. Lovett's house tomorrow, remember?"

"How could I forget? Good work, Speed, now go home."

"Right."

Horatio clapped a hand on Speed's back as he rose from his seat. He shrugged off the lab coat and he headed across the room to hang it up on a hook as Eric opened and thumbed through the file in his hand. Just as Speed had his jacket in tow, he turned around again.

"Oh, and by the way, Horatio," he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder, "that guy, Nigel? He single-handedly avoided a major system meltdown that probably could have wiped out our database, and his tools of choice were a screwdriver and a paper clip, so…"

Horatio raised one eyebrow and couldn't help but spare a glance at Eric, who seemed hell-bent on looking at absolutely everything besides Horatio. He smiled to himself and turned back to Speed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, so, can we, like… keep him or something?"

He smiled. "Believe it or not, Speed," he said, "you are not the first person to request that."

"It's just that our computer network has been sort of faulty lately, and, you know, it might be handy to have him around if he can pull a MacGyver like that."

Horatio looked down at the floor, his mind rolling over Speed's words. The same question was being presented to him over and over, and each time he heard it, the better it sounded. Nigel would be a fantastic asset to the MDPD, doubtless, but could he stay? Would he?

"I'll keep it in mind," he said, and he meant every word.

"'Kay. I'm out, then," he drawled. "Good night."

"Night, Speed," Horatio said as he heard the door swing open. A moment later, it closed and the lab was thrown into temporary silence.

"So," Eric said after a moment, "was I the only one who didn't like him off the bat?"

Horatio just patted him on the shoulder. "Are you going to scan the sketch into the system?"

"Yeah. It's a good thing we found a francophone sketch artist who also happened to have a chronic case of insomnia, huh?"

"Don't question it, just go with it," Horatio said, watching as Eric pulled the sketch from the folder with one hand and opened the scanner with the other. "So what do you think; will we get a hit on this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Eric sighed as he positioned the sketch on the bed of the scanner. "If there's any justice in this world, we'll get his address, phone number and the time he usually takes a shower."

Horatio smiled.

"I'm serious, H," he said, "this freak is straight-up evil. After working in crime for this long, there are only a few things that really get to me. Child prostitution is one of them." He closed the scanner and hit a few buttons, making the narrow dimension of it light up and slowly drag down the length.

"I know," Horatio said, "I feel the same way. We'll get him, Eric, as soon as we can."

He watched as the image scrolled slowly down the screen. A moment later, it beeped, and the sketch was staring back at them. The face on the screen was square-ish, with a pair of deep-set eyes and a flat nose. The lines around his mouth were long, making it look like he'd spent too much time frowning.

"I'll put this into the crime database," Eric said as he turned the keyboard and began to type rapidly, the clicking echoless in the half-dark of the lab. "Guess we don't have much information on him, other than an alias." Horatio watched Eric enter 'LA HIRE' in the appropriate text box. A moment later, he hit the submit button. The CPU clicked and whirred softly for a few minutes, and then it flashed the words 'Successfully submitted to database' on the screen.

"Right," he said, "I guess that's it for now."

"For now," agreed Horatio. "Let's both go home."

-- -- -- -- --

"Okay, stop halfway down," said the voice in Nigel's ear. "Do you see what I see?"

"What? Where?"

"Number twenty-seven."

Nigel had to hit the down arrow key a few more times before he saw the twenty-seventh search result on the Google page. "Oh, yeah, now I see it… what's that website URL?"

"Something on a blogging Site," Jordan said, and a second later he heard the clicking of a mouse from her end of the line. "Yeah. It's J-dash-Gables-dot-Blogworld-dot-com."

Keeping the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder, Nigel shifted his hands and quickly typed in the URL. The modem whirred for a few seconds before the website loaded, the different shades of blue on the background lighting up the keyboard of the laptop.

"'Musings on the profound and the mundane,'" Jordan read, "'from Average Joe.' Sounds absolutely riveting."

"Mhm. It's such a shame that I really don't give a damn." Nigel held the down arrow key and scrolled quickly through the seemingly endless stream. "Where's the entry that came up on Google? Because that's the only one I'm interested in."

"Wait-wait-wait," she said suddenly, "there it is, about three-quarters of the way down. The article is titled 'My Tête-à-Tête With Unlawfulness.'"

It took Nigel a minute to find what Jordan was talking about, but when he finally found it, the subject couldn't have been more apparent:

_Today was as interesting as it was frightening. I made the mistake of walking home through the darker sides of town, and trust me, I won't forget what I saw._

_As I was cutting through a back alley, I realised that I was lost. Seeing a glowing yellow rectangle of light against the side of a large brick building that looked like some sort of shop, I decided to throw my inherent male instincts and ask for directions._

_I walked into the room and the scent of blood and semen overwhelmed me. It was a small, dirty room lined with tattered folding chairs. Against one wall was a tall man dressed all in black, complete with a Humphrey Bogart-style fedora and long trench coat. He looked up when I entered and his beady eyes scanned me._

_"Are you here to see La Hire?" he asked. His voice was slanted with a thick Cockney accent, and his speech was slurred; he sounded drunk._

_"Err," I began, "no, I'm not, I--"_

_"Right," he cut me off, stumbling across to the corner of the room. He grabbed the end of a curtain that hung in front of a doorway, and through it I saw children._

_Dozens of them, at least, boys and girls, all of them dirty and not one of them a day over fifteen years old. They looked scared, pale, thin and shaky, and when the light from the lobby flooded into the back room, they all simultaneously looked up and recoiled._

_I was horrified, to say the least, and not to mention terrified. This couldn't be what I thought it was, could it? I'd heard the rumours of course, but I always thought they were nothing more than just that: rumours. But when I looked upon the scared, ashen faces of all those children, my mind couldn't think of any other reason they could all be there together._

_"Pick whichever one you like," the man grunted, interrupting my thoughts. "Your charge is based on how much time you spend with them. No snuffing and nothing that leaves permanent scars, hear me?"_

_I felt queasy. This was it -- this was the child prostitution ring I'd read about. This was the dangerous one, too, the one run by some mafia lord who was known to assassinate those it didn't approve of. If I didn't play along, I would probably die. If I did play along, I would never be able to live with myself._

_So, I did the next best thing: I lied._

_"You, err," I said, "you don't have the type I'm looking for."_

_The man raised his eyebrow at me challengingly. "We got boys, girls, black, white and Latino, what _is_ 'your type?'"_

_"Not here," I said finally. "I'll look elsewhere. Thank you."_

_And then I left, without looking back. I didn't call the cops; my hands were shaking too much, and my paranoia convinced me that they would somehow find me if I did._

Nigel shivered. "Jesus," he said after finishing the article, "this is disgusting. Did all of this happen in Miami?"

He heard Jordan swallow and click a few times. "The guy says he lives in Miami, yes."

"Magnificent," he mumbled into his hand. "God, I feel sick."

"Me, too," Jordan said softly. "I hope you guys find the twisted bastard behind this, lock him up and throw away the key."

He sighed. "As do I."

Of course, this sort of story struck a very personal chord with Nigel; a _very_ personal chord. It was a memory he would have liked to forget, but one that, every now and then, would wake him up at two in the morning, the memories of that man's face dark and fierce in his mind's eye.

His face. The fierce eyes, the ragged beard, the gritted teeth.

_Oh, God._

He shut his eyes tightly and blocked out the memory. Not now, not here. He didn't want to remember.

"Nigel? Are you there?"

He opened his eyes again. "I, uh -- yes. I'm here."

"You okay?"

"Fine," he lied. "I'm fine."


	8. Terror in Your Dreams

That night, he had the dream.

He was nine years old. His parents were going through a nasty divorce, and the government had relocated him to a foster parent who lived down in Southampton. Nigel had never met the man before, but all of the government officials had assured him that he was a good, kind man.

At that age, he was still young in body and mind: he had an untainted faith in the government and in society, and it was visible in his brown eyes and bright smile. He was always full of positive energy, ready to laugh and help anyone who needed it, and unconcerned with school, work and real life in general. In other words, he was a kid; nothing less and nothing more.

When he arrived at the bungalow, there was a thick layer of clouds covering the sky, and even though it was only quarter past noon the dark sky made it look closer to eight. Nigel hadn't heard any birds, but he did hear the occasional sound of a car rattling by. It was so different from his home in Liverpool, where everything was quiet and bright. Here, it was dark and dreary, and the air smelled of petrol and monotony. Here, everything was grey.

The man in the black suit ushered him up the front steps and rang the doorbell for him. The dog from two doors down started to bark, but it was muffled. He heard the shifting of a chair across a linoleum floor, footsteps, and then the door opened.

Standing at six-foot-four, almost as tall as the doorway, itself, was a man with shaggy chestnut hair and gleaming green eyes. His body was long and lank, with the joints usually wider than the bones. He looked down at Nigel, who hadn't yet reached four-foot-six, and from almost two feet down, the man looked larger than life.

"You must be Nigel Townsend," said the man. He had a thick cockney accent and terrible teeth, but to be fair, he _was_ British, and having bad teeth didn't make him an anomaly. However, the eerie expression on his face couldn't be attributed to his nationality, and it made Nigel inherently uneasy.

"Indeed, he is," replied the man in the black suit, patting Nigel on the shoulder. "Thank you again for taking him, Mr. Carter," he continued, "you're doing a good thing."

"Anything for the children," Mr. Carter said, crouching down to Nigel's level and smiling crazily at him. "How are you doing today, Nigel?"

"Fine," he said softly.

"Good! Why don't you come on in, and I'll fix you up something to eat," he said.

"Is all the paperwork in order, then?" asked the man in the suit.

"Yes," Mr. Carter replied, "and it's _en route_. You should be receiving it in the post tomorrow."

"Excellent. I'll call you when I receive it."

"Very good. Good day, Sir."

"Good day, Mr. Carter."

That was the last time he saw the man in the suit.

And this was the first day of his two-year personal hell.

It started out well enough. Mr. Carter liked to spend time with him. He watched over him like a hawk, always asking if Nigel was hungry, or thirsty, or bored, or felt like going out. Nigel didn't like to be a burden, so he usually said no, but thanked him, anyway.

He couldn't really define a specific point when Mr. Carter went from saint to sinner. It started with little things: a pat on the shoulder, stroking his hair, rubbing his back. Then it would start to get worse: a hand lingering on his thigh, goodnight hugs that lasted too long. Nigel couldn't say why, but it didn't feel right. Something about Mr. Carter made him wary, and the strange actions only contributed to the sentiment.

But it kept escalating. Soon, Mr. Carter was requesting "goodnight kisses." He began to comment on how sweet and innocent Nigel was. He would ask if Nigel liked to be touched, or if he liked to touch. He asked if Nigel's mummy and daddy had ever told him about 'the birds and the bees.'

"No," said Nigel on the night he'd asked the question.

"No? Never? Your parents never told you about sex?"

Nigel wasn't really lying, but neither was he telling the whole truth. His parents, being so socially conservative that it was incredible, hadn't said so much as 'pregnancy' while in his presence, but his father was a doctor, and Nigel had gotten into his books. He knew what sex was, granted he didn't truly understand it. The extent of his knowledge was that it was used for purposes of reproduction. Anything past that was beyond him.

"No," he said again, more slowly.

"Sex is a wonderful, wonderful thing," Mr. Carter said, leaning back on his hands. "It feels very good, you know."

Nigel faltered. He wasn't entirely sure where this was going. He most certainly wasn't a stupid boy (quite the opposite, in fact, with an I.Q. of 184), and his intuition was screaming that something was horribly, horribly wrong. But he had no idea what it was.

He found out soon enough.

Soon Nigel hated going to bed, because it meant that Mr. Carter would want another 'lesson,' which made Nigel's stomach churn. Touch him, he would say. Kiss him, he would say. It always ended the same way, and Nigel would curl up, feeling disgusting and horrible, as Mr. Carter left the room and closed the door behind him.

And then it went too far. That was when the dream would turn into a nightmare.

Mr. Carter said he couldn't understand. Didn't he like all of those times he got to touch him? It was just another part of sex, and it would feel good, he promised. But Nigel couldn't understand why, because he _hated_ it, and it kept happening, again and again, every night. Mr. Carter told him that Nigel liked it, that he wanted it, but he neither liked it nor wanted it. When Nigel said this, he would be hit. Then it would happen, anyway.

Every night would end in tears. Nigel would be sore and weak and wanting to run away, but he was more trapped in his mind than he was in his room. He hated it. He didn't want to be here, anymore. Why did his parents have to send him away? Couldn't they have kept him there? He wanted to go home. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to be gone. He wanted to _die_.

All Nigel could see was Mr. Carter's face, as he snarled and growled and raped him, his crooked teeth bared and his eyes gleaming. If the dream was particularly clear, sometimes Nigel could taste the salty tears and feel the vice-like grip around his arms.

But it would always end the same way: Mr. Carter would lean down and whisper roughly into his ear: _"You like it, don't you? You like it, you little whore. You can't get enough of it!"_

Nigel would scream and wake up.

He was never sure if he was screaming in the dream, or screaming in his bed.

-- -- -- -- --

Halfway to the crime lab, Horatio's cell phone rang. He glanced briefly at Nigel, who looked as though he hadn't gotten any sleep that night, and pulled it from his pocket.

"Yeah."

"H, this is Calleigh."

"Hi, Calleigh," he greeted. "What have you got for me?"

"Well, I swabbed the gun for epithelials like you asked," she said, "and I didn't get any."

"That's suspicious," he said slowly. "Not one?"

"Not a single cell," she said. "But I did find something very interesting. Guess what I found stuck in the trigger."

"Enlighten me."

"Sugar, resin, gum, proteins, alkaloids…"

"Latex," Horatio said, his eyebrows raised. "As in a latex glove?"

"That's what I was thinking," Calleigh said. "It must have gotten stuck when he was pulling the trigger. So I took a sample from one of our gloves, and guess what? It has the exact same chemical composition, down to the last carbonic ion!"

Horatio frowned suddenly. "You don't think it was--?"

"Someone from the lab? No," she said. "I checked the website of the company that makes the gloves, and they're an international corporation; they sell all over the world."

"Well, it does give us something: that print was planted for us to find. Whoever the shooter is, he's framing someone. Run it through AFIS for me, would you?" Horatio asked as he made a right turn onto a four-lane road. "Because if we can't find the shooter…"

"… maybe the guy who was framed can. Gotcha. I'll catch up with you when you get back to the lab."

"Thank you." He flipped the phone shut and slid it back in his pocket.

"What did you get?" asked Nigel, rubbing one eye.

"We found a print on the gun," Horatio said, "but it was planted. We're going to run it through AFIS, anyway, though."

Nigel nodded and stifled a yawn.

"You look exhausted," noted Horatio uselessly.

"I had a, ah… a bit of trouble sleeping last night," he said, pausing almost imperceptibly between his words.

"Speaking of which, you never told me what you found on La Hire."

"Right," Nigel said. "We found a blog entry by a guy who lives here in Miami. Long story short, he made a wrong turn and stumbled across a building where the -- the prostitution ring was set. We know it was La Hire's headquarters, because his name was mentioned. If this guy has his facts straight, the base of operations is somewhere near here."

"You're going to have to show me that website," Horatio said, "but not now. Do you want some coffee or something?"

"I wouldn't be opposed," Nigel yawned.

They made a pit stop at one of the thousands of Starbucks lining the streets of Miami (apparently Nigel liked a little coffee with his cream and sugar, which was about the polar opposite of Horatio, who preferred it black). He bought a croissant, as well, and used that to substitute breakfast as they drove back to the crime lab.

Barely had they set foot in the foyer when Calleigh, who was apparently waiting in the shadows, pounced.

"Got a hit in AFIS!" she said cheerfully, holding a paper up to Horatio's nose. "It took the system about ten seconds. This guy's incredible." Horatio took the paper but continued walking; he could feel Nigel looking over his shoulder.

"Wow," Horatio said flatly, "this is a rap sheet worth boasting about. Look at this: three counts of rape, one of them statutory, armed robbery, assault and battery, manslaughter, murder one -- and I thought I knew what evil was. I think this beats our victim."

"The victim had a rap sheet?" Nigel asked.

"Mhm. Speed printed him last night and got a hit. He has about twenty counts of 'tax evasion,' but that's probably not all he's guilty of," Horatio said.

"His name is Marvin Lester," Calleigh said, "but apparently he goes by Cauchemar."

"That's French for 'nightmare,'" Nigel said.

"Considering everything his done, I can't say that's not a fitting alias," Horatio pointed out, folding the paper in two with one hand. "Looks like we'll be paying a visit to Cauchemar after we go to interrogate the wife again."

"I really can't blame this guy for framing Lester," Calleigh said, the sneer audible in her voice. "If it were me…"

"Hush, now, Calleigh, remember where you are," Horatio said.

She laughed. "Right, right. Silly me. By the way, have we met?"

Nigel smiled at her. "No," he said. "Very nice to meet you, though. I'm Nigel Townsend, a criminologist from Boston."

"Right, you're one of the suspects. Got off, I suppose?"

"Cleared of everything," Horatio said, "and as it turns out, he's also very useful to the case. God knows we need more criminologists here, anyway."

"Well, my name is Calleigh Duquesne," she said, offering a hand which she held out in front of Horatio and offered to Nigel, who took it and nodded. "I'm a CSI."

"Right," Nigel said, "Bullet Girl."

She laughed again. "Yep, that's me."

"Hon, I am _loving_ your accent. Very deep Southern."

"I could say the same!"

"Come along, children," Horatio said, pushing through a door into one of the many labouratories that branched off the main hallway. Eric was bent over a microscope when they entered.

"Eric, ready to roll?"

He looked up. "Oh, yeah. By the way, we got a hit on the sketch we posted last night."

-- -- -- -- --

Nigel liked her already. She was young and blonde, and dressed in her white lab coat she carried an air of respectability and intelligence.

"Well, my name is Calleigh Duquesne," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm a CSI."

He recognised the name; Horatio must have mentioned her. "Right, Bullet Girl."

She laughed at the nickname. "Yep, that's me."

"Hon," Nigel said, "I am _loving_ your accent. Very deep Southern."

"I could say the same!" she replied, beaming at him.

"Come along, children," Horatio said as he moved into one of the labs. Nigel tried not to cringe when he saw Eric hovering over one of the microscopes lined up on the island of counters in the centre of the room. "Eric, ready to roll?"

He looked up. "Oh, yeah," he said distractedly. "By the way, we got a hit on the sketch we posted last night."

"Really?" Horatio asked, walking over toward the computer, but Eric had beat him there. By the time Horatio had made it to the spot over Eric's shoulder, he was already typing away. "So soon?"

"Yeah, someone down in -- surprise -- Daytona Beach recognised him instantly."

"Recognised who?" Nigel asked, moving to the other side of the computer.

"We did a sketch of the man the French girl described," Eric said, "and put it on the database; someone knows his face, apparently."

Nigel glanced offhandedly at the screen and suddenly his stomach lurched.

"Oh, God."

_It was Mr. Carter._


	9. Diamond in Your Rough

"Nigel?" Horatio asked, turning towards him. The look on his face acted like a jumpstart; he quickly reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Nigel, what's going on?"

He was so pale that it had Horatio genuinely worried. He had one hand over his mouth, and his brown eyes were fixed vacantly on the screen. He looked simultaneously shocked, frightened and sickened, and he didn't seem to hear Horatio at all.

"Nigel," he said a bit louder.

He looked up with a jerk.

"What's wrong?" he asked, gentler. He knew from the silence behind him that Calleigh and Eric were also looking at him, and based on the way he glanced behind him, Horatio could tell that he didn't like it that way.

"I, uh--" he started. "Horatio, could I -- could I talk to you outside for a bit? Alone?"

Horatio just nodded, slowly. "Yes, of course."

Nigel was the first person to start for the door, walking quickly, his hands shaking at his sides. Horatio wasn't far behind him. The minute he closed the door, Nigel turned.

"Try not to ask too many questions, all right?" he said immediately. "Just -- just try to listen first."

Once again, Horatio nodded. "Okay."

"When I…" he began, faltering in his sentence. "When I was nine, I -- my parents went through a nasty divorce, and I was sent to a foster home. My foster parent's name was -- is -- Alan Carter, he's -- he's the man in that drawing."

"_What?_"

"He's a paedophile," he said weakly, a look of utter sadness on his face. "He raped me. Quite a few times. And I was so young, I didn't know--" He closed his eyes tightly. "Look, the point is that I -- I know him."

Horatio felt something subtly simmering in his veins, but he knew that the cool mask of indifference wasn't going to fall. He couldn't get it out of his mind: raped him. La Hire had raped Nigel when he was _nine_.

"You… don't have to worry about me saying anything," Horatio murmured, "because I wouldn't even know what to say. He really--?"

"Yes," Nigel said shortly. "I stayed with him for two months while my parents hammered out the divorce suit. Yes, I hated every minute of it. Yes, he still terrifies me, because yes, I still have the nightmares."

His voice was shaking almost unnoticeably, but Horatio was a cop, and he was nothing if not perceptive. The hand near his thigh clenched, and he forced a smile that, Horatio was sure, had vengeance written all over it.

"That," Horatio said, "is all the more reason to track him down and put him away for life."

Nigel sighed out and raked his hand through his hair, staring at the floor.

"Nigel," said Horatio, softening at the expression on his face, "as you know, we're going after him today. Do you want to be there?"

Nigel's fingers were drumming quickly against his upper arm in a _1-3-2-4_ pattern. Horatio could see him weighing the consequences in his mind.

His question had been completely honest. Horatio could clearly see both sides: on one hand, La Hire still scared him, and not without good reason. On the other hand, who wouldn't want to see a pair of cuffs slapped on the hands of their rapist?

Finally, Nigel said, "Can I be armed?"

"Yes," Horatio replied, smiling.

"Good. Great. Okay, then. That's fine. I'll come with you."

Horatio put a hand on his shoulder. "Okay."

-- -- -- -- --

Did Nigel want to go with him? Well, that was certainly the million-dollar question. Did he want to face the man that destroyed his childhood? Not particularly, no. Did he want to see his face when he was cuffed? How many ways could he say 'hell fucking yes?'

"Can I be armed?" he asked.

Horatio smiled warmly at him. "Yes," he said.

"Good," he said weakly. "Great. Okay, then. That's fine. I'll come with you."

He felt Horatio's hand land on his shoulder, and Nigel finally looked up from the gleaming white tile and into the intense blue eyes. "Okay," he said softly, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. Nigel had no qualms with letting the eye contact continue.

After a moment, Horatio whispered, "He won't touch you."

Nigel smiled. "Knight in shining armour, I presume?" he asked in an equally soft voice.

"Something like that, yeah," Horatio said, the smile on his face growing ever so slightly.

"Well," he said slowly, "all right, but I swear, if you think I'm going to pull a Scarlet O'Hara, you're dead wrong, mate."

Horatio laughed. "No, I'm confident that you can hold your own." Nigel smiled at him, nothing but warmth in his eyes, and Horatio really couldn't help but smile back. Nigel really could hold his own, Horatio realised. He was smart, confident and, if Horatio could infer anything, a genuinely kind person.

He really would be an excellent addition to the MDPD, and especially the understaffed crime lab.

"Hey, listen," Horatio began, "I've been talking with a few other CSIs lately, about you."

"Me?"

"Mhm." He looked away from the door panel he'd been studying and back to Nigel. "A lot of them really seem to like you. Two of them have already asked if I had plans to hire you."

Though Horatio was watching very carefully for a reaction on Nigel's face, he wasn't getting much. His expression was searching, and carefully controlled. After a few moments of silence, Nigel said, "Well, hypothetically speaking, would you?"

"Hypothetically speaking, hmm?" Horatio asked. "Well, hypothetically, I would, because you could be an excellent resource to the crime lab."

Nigel rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "And I, hypothetically… would be honoured to work here, and would accept without hesitation -- if I didn't already have a job back up in Boston."

Horatio looked away again. Realistically, he should have expected that reaction, but it still left a mark that was difficult to ignore. Nigel already _had_ a job, halfway up the East Coast; it was one that he probably loved, and wanted to return to. And, once the storm ended, he probably would.

Why did that scare Horatio so much?

"That," said Horatio, "is perfectly understandable, and the choice, I suppose, is ultimately yours."

"Horatio," he said quickly, grabbing his wrist to keep him from turning away. Horatio met his gaze fearlessly. "I'll think about it. And I mean that, I do. Every word."

Another pause stretched across the conversation.

"Okay," Horatio said finally. "Now, if it's fine with you, we have a witness to interrogate."

-- -- -- -- --

As they pulled up to the large traffic circle driveway in the front of the house, Nigel rolled down the window in the back seat of the Hummer and peered out it. The house was just as large as Horatio had described, with the white brick façade gleaming in the Miami sun.

"Swanky," Nigel commented. "And nice cars, to boot."

"Cars?" asked Eric, who had been looking through a file. "How many?"

"Three," Nigel replied. "Why?"

"Three? That's illogical for a family of two, isn't it," he said, "even with money to burn."

"So it seems we have a visitor," Eric murmured.

Nigel grabbed the handle of the kit and followed the other two out and up the path that led to the front door. By the time he had made it to the long stoop, Horatio was already at the door and knocking loudly.

"Miami Dade Police, open up," he roared. "Eric, get the plates on all three cars for me, would you?"

Eric nodded. "You got it, H," he said, hopping off the stoop and crossing the lawn to the three cars lined up around the outer edge of the traffic circle.

"Nigel, do you remember why she hit you on the day we found her and her husband?"

"She never had the chance to explain. I guess that's one of the questions we can ask," Nigel said, setting the kit down on the stone railing that circumvented the stoop, save for the top of the stairs leading to it. He produced two latex gloves and tossed them to Horatio, who caught them without thinking and pulled them on. Nigel then got two for himself.

"_Miami Dade Police, open up!_" he said louder when he got no response. From somewhere upstairs, they heard a thumping sound that caught both of their attentions. Then there was the sound of footsteps, creaking, and finally the door opened.

Mrs. Lovett was standing in the doorway, bundled in a green robe with her hair dishevelled. Nigel knew what "freshly shagged" looked like, and Mrs. Lovett had it written all over her face in nine different languages.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lovett," Horatio said, looking up at her through his sunglasses. "Who's your visitor?"

"Lieutenant? I, err -- it's my -- my financial advisor," she stammered.

"Really?" Horatio challenged. "I must be rusty with formalities, because I could have sworn that 'financial advisors' didn't usually give their clients hickeys."

Nigel smirked triumphantly as Mrs. Lovett clapped a hand over the side of her neck. Before she had a chance to reply, Horatio cut her off:

"May we come in? We have a few questions for you."

"I, uhm… yes. Yes, of course. Come in," she said, stepping aside and pulling the door open wider. Horatio glanced briefly over his shoulder, in time with Nigel, and both of them saw Eric returning, holding up a pad of paper. Horatio jerked his head and Eric jogged to catch up with them.

"Mrs. Lovett, do you know who this is?" Horatio asked, motioning to Nigel with one hand.

"No, I don't believe we've met," she said, looking at Nigel.

"I'm Nigel Townsend. I'm the man who found you and your husband at the crime scene," Nigel said. "The one you backhanded."

She cringed slightly. "I'm… I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I must have been slightly delusional at the time. I didn't mean anything by it."

"I want to know why," Horatio said, resting his hands on his hips.

"I… I don't know why."

"Let me take a stab at it," Eric said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You said your attacker had a British accent. Nigel, here, found you, probably said something to help wake you, and on an automatic reaction, you hit him."

She blinked owlishly at him. "I suppose… that could be it."

Horatio stared right through her. "Your attacker didn't have a British accent, did he, Mrs. Lovett?"

"I…"

"In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that nothing you said about your attacker was true," he said in a voice that was simultaneously soft and commanding. "We found a fingerprint on the gun that killed your late husband, and yet we didn't find a single epithelial cell."

"You're a doctor, Mrs. L," Eric said. "You must know that something like that is rare at best. The average human sheds millions of epithelial cells every day just by moving."

"What are you insinuating?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I'm not insinuating a thing, Mrs. Lovett," Horatio replied softly. "I'm investigating. That's my job. And my investigation continually points to _you_."

Suddenly, there was a new voice from above: "You have nothing to substantiate what you're implying, Lieutenant."

Nigel's head snapped upwards, where he saw a man, also in a robe, with hair as thick as his Londoner accent. He was leaning on the banister that overlooked the foyer, not far from the top of the stairs leading down.

Horatio looked up at him searchingly for a few moments, the intensity of his blue gaze leaving no effect on his steely composure.

"Not yet," he said slowly, "but I will."

"Until then," the man said, "get out of this house."

Eyes narrowed, Horatio returned his gaze to Mrs. Lovett, who was shaking and pale. "Don't go far, Eleanor," he said before turning and walking out.

Nigel smirked. "Cheers," he said, nodding.

The second the door closed behind them, Horatio said, "Something's not right."

"Tell me about it," Eric drawled. "That man she was with was giving me ten kinds of bad vibes."

"And Mrs. Lovett seemed genuinely shaken," Nigel said. "She couldn't have faked that. Do you think she really had nothing to do with this?"

"I don't know," Horatio said, and Nigel could tell that it bothered him. "You know what? Let's pay a visit to our friend, Mr. Lester, and see what he has to say about this mess."

-- -- -- -- --

"Are we _sure_ this is the right address?" Nigel asked sounding appalled.

"According to his rap sheet, yes," Eric responded, looking up from the paper. "Though it doesn't look like it's been touched in a couple hundred years."

"The man could invest in a gardener at the very least," agreed Horatio, eyeing the broken-down shack with a wary eye. The place could barely pass off for dilapidated, with two shattered windows fixed with duct tape and overgrown vines curling up the rusty drainpipes. However, it couldn't have been unoccupied, because there was very loud rap music blaring from within, making the shrubbery around the perimetre shiver to the beat.

"There's no way he'd hear us if we knocked," Eric said with a sneer.

Horatio's eyes moved slowly from the door to the outer corner of the house, where he saw a thick bundle of cords leading up to a hole at the bottom of the wall.

"So let's get his attention another way," said Horatio, pulling his gun from the side of his belt and firing once at the cords.

All at once the music went silent and the lights inside went out. From inside, he heard a loud swear word and an undignified _thump_ noise. Horatio then moved up to the door and pounded on it twice. "Miami Dade Police," he called, "open up."

"Have I mentioned lately that you're my hero?" Nigel asked from behind him, and Horatio just smirked.

The door swung open on rusty hinges, and framed in it was a man of medium height and build, with slicked black hair and a toothpick hanging between his lips. An unflattering snarl was contorting his face, and a tattered wife-beater was hanging off one shoulder.

"What the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "You just cut of my power!"

"The only problem is that it isn't your power, Mr. Lester," Horatio replied calmly, looking away from the ruined electric cords and up at the man. "We have a warrant to search your premises."

"What? Bullshit! Give it here," he demanded, and Eric handed it over without a word. He snatched it out of his hands and opened it up, scanning the contents of the paper with beady brown eyes. Horatio breezed passed him into the house.

The rancid scent of mould met his senses and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Have you ever heard the term 'housecleaning,' Mr. Lester?" he asked tightly.

"What's this about?" he demanded, tightening his hand and causing the warrant to crumple in his clenched fist.

"We found your fingerprint on a gun used to kill a man recently," Horatio replied, glancing back at the man. "However, we know you were framed."

"If you know I was framed, then why are you searching my fucking house?"

"Because, Lester," Eric interjected, "no one is framed without reason. There's a good chance you know the man who framed you, and evidence from this house could lead us to him."

"Can't you just do the normal cop thing and ask me questions?" he asked hotly.

"If I did, would you answer them?" Horatio challenged.

The man stared at him, calculation on his face. "Depends on what you're asking."

"I rest my case," he said. "Search it, boys."

"Aye-aye, mon capitain," Nigel said, saluting and heading past him into the filthy living room. "I won't do it willingly, though -- oh, _man_, is that _mould_ growing on the couch?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" he snapped.

Nigel gave him a disgusted look. "You, sir," he said, "are _made_ of failure."

He just sneered at Nigel as he headed into the sitting area and crouched down at the foot of the couch. Horatio watched as he produced a swab and took a sample of whatever repulsive substance was growing on the couch. Nigel held it up to proper light that streamed through the window and said to Lester, "Semen. If I find multiple donors and blood, you're going down."

"You don't scare me, cop," he said defiantly.

"Good," Horatio interjected, "because he's not a cop. He's a criminologist -- one who's nabbed more worthy criminals than you."

Lester's nostrils flared and he raised his chin. "Whatever. I ain't been rapin' no kids."

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "I didn't mention any kids," he said evenly.

The smugness on his face was wiped off in an instant, and Horatio chuckled darkly. "Does he scare you now?" he asked, leaning in to slash through his cockiness with one glance. "Eric, cuff him. He's just admitted to child molestation."


	10. Bend in Your Road

"But I didn't _do_ anything!"

"That's not what your rap sheet says," Horatio pointed out mildly, thumbing through the folder. "Three counts of rape, and rapists are repeat offenders."

"I didn't outright admit to raping kids," he snapped.

The door swung open. "Actually," came Nigel's voice, "you just did."

Horatio looked over his shoulder. "What did you get?"

"Not one, but _six_ different semen donors, plus trace amounts of blood," Nigel replied, handing him the folder. "He's a rapist."

"Excellent," Horatio said, setting down the rap sheet to look through the file. "My, my, Mr. Lester, you certainly have been busy, haven't you? Six semen donors, and based on these tests, none of the samples have been there for over two months."

The corner of Lester's mouth twitched downward, and he didn't reply.

Horatio looked at him silently, then threw the file down on the table and leaned over the table to stare him in the face. "Where's La Hire?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said instantly.

"You're a paedophile, and La Hire runs the biggest organisation of child prostitution, now _where is he?_"

Still, he said nothing.

"Answer me, Lester, _now_. Where is he? We know he's in Miami somewhere, and we'll find him with or without your help. It would be to your advantage if you told us where he is."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated.

"The same way you didn't know about raping six kids?" challenged Nigel. "Not bloody likely, you scumbag."

"Fine," Horatio said. "You can reconsider it all you want -- in a holding cell. Officer?"

The officer pulled him up, cuffed him, and pushed him out of the room, leaving Horatio and Nigel in silence.

"And the cases intersect," Nigel said softly. "Does this mean we can link La Hire to the Lovett case?"

"I don't know," he replied, painfully honest. "If we can, that means we can both find the murderer and bring down La Hire's ring. Two birds, one stone."

Nigel sighed out. "Right. Okay."

Horatio checked his watch. "We don't have time to track down La Hire today," he said. "His last sighting was in Daytona Beach, and there's no way we can get there before nine."

He just nodded, sinking down on the corner of the table. "The hit we got on his sketch only gave us a habitual trip to a supermarket, anyway, and we're past that. We might as well wait until later." He paused. "Didn't he move down to Miami last year?"

"He did," Horatio said.

"Then why was he sighted in Daytona?"

"I don't know. I suppose we'll find out tomorrow."

Horatio looked up to Nigel, whose chin was against his chest. "Hey," he said softly, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, "are you doing okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, "fine. Nothing a warm cup of tea couldn't cure."

Horatio smiled. "Okay. It's on me, then."

-- -- -- -- --

_Vrrrrrrhhhmmmm!!_

"Honey, what's that noise?"

"Timmy tried to cook a turkey in the dishwasher!"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!…"

"I hate sitcoms," Nigel said as he tossed another kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"Then why are we still watching it?" asked Horatio.

"Because it beats the Discovery Channel special on sea cucumbers," he replied.

"Right."

"Oh, Timmy, not again!"

"Sorry, Dad!"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!…"

"This is so asinine," Horatio mumbled, plucking one of the last pieces of popcorn from the bowl that sat between them on the bed. "I think I can feel my I.Q. dropping just by watching it." He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and flipped up a channel.

On the screen was the ever-beautiful Ingrid Bergman, in black-and-white film, dressed in a trench coat and flipping a coin. She had her eyes squarely on Humphrey Bogart, who was wearing his trademark fedora hat and frown.

"Hey, _Casablanca_!"

Bergman flipped the coin onto the table. "Franc for your thoughts," she said.

"In America they'd bring only a penny," Bogart replied. "I guess that's about all they're worth."

Leaning forward, Bergman said, "I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me."

"Been a while since I saw this," Horatio noted, moving the empty bowl off the bed and setting it on the nightstand.

"Mhm. An oldie, but a goodie." Nigel returned his attention to the television.

"And I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"Why I'm so lucky," he said. "Why I should find you waiting for me to come along."

"Why there's no other man in my life?"

"Uh-huh."

Nigel really couldn't help but notice the uncanny parallel, or so he hoped. He hesitantly glanced over to Horatio, who was watching the screen easily. With the otherwise dim bedroom, the light from the screen lit up his profile, and Nigel swallowed.

"That's easy," Bergman said, her voice fringed with the hint of sultriness. "There was. He's dead."

"I'm sorry for asking," Bogart said after a moment. "I forgot we said 'no questions.'"

Not a moment later, Horatio glanced back at him, and neither of them could have looked away if they tried.

"Well…" Bergman began.

"Here's looking at you, kid," Horatio said softly, moving forward effortlessly.

"… only one answer can take care of all of our questions."

Nigel closed the gap as well as his eyes, and felt a hand snake through his hair as their lips met not for the first time. However, unlike the first time, the passion wasn't boiling over; rather, it was like a softly simmering pot: noticeable, but not overwhelming.

Their movements were unhurried, and it seemed only natural when they moved together in the centre of the bed, body-to-body. Nigel felt Horatio's fingertips slowly travelling down his sides and resting on his hipbones. He felt a tongue lazily explore his bottom lip and Nigel responded by lacing one arm around his neck.

"No interruptions this time?" Horatio said against his mouth.

"To high heaven, I hope not," he replied as Horatio rolled him onto his back gingerly covered Nigel's body with his own.

Soon Nigel had both arms securely around his shoulders, and Horatio had his hands laced in Nigel's hair, which was fanned out across the pillow. As their mouths continued working against each other slowly, Nigel raised his hips ever slightly, forcing a flash of frictional heat. Horatio breathed out across his cheek and pressed back down against him in reciprocation.

Sufficiently convinced, Nigel pulled one hand back across Horatio's shoulder and pulled at the buttons on the white shirt in a way that could almost be described as coy: though his motive was clear, his execution was agonisingly slow and drew Horatio absolutely up the wall.

"You're too much," Horatio pointed out as his kisses went lower and lower across Nigel's neck and towards the dip in his collarbone. His hands pushed under the hem of his shirt and slowly up his stomach. Nigel arched up into his touch as if he were starved.

The rest of the clothing didn't last much longer: Nigel started clawing at Horatio's undershirt, and it went downhill from there. As _Casablanca_'s dramatic music swelled from the television set, and as the moon rose higher and higher into the sky through the window, articles of clothing peeled off one by one, littering the floor. A sheer white bed sheet was pulled up just around Horatio's waist, who was hovering over Nigel and dropping kisses across his jaw.

Horatio Caine was not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. However, contrary to apparent popular trends in social behaviour, he was not one to flaunt his sexuality, and he always tried to keep a distinct line between his love life and his job, and Nigel Townsend was making that _very_ difficult to do.

The man was like a drug without the health hazards. As Horatio shifted his position to slowly push down against Nigel's pelvis with his own, he let his senses bask in the overflow. It was so different from having sex with a woman: Nigel's skin was just as soft, his hair just as light, but he carried a subtle, intoxicating masculinity that, even if Horatio could ignore, he wouldn't want to. He could smell the faint scent of rosemary, and it wasn't so potent like a woman's.

He'd really never bothered to question his sexual orientation; it seemed like a complete waste of time to him. What did it matter, anyway? Nigel was just as sexy as any woman he'd slept with (perhaps even a bit more so), and did it make him gay? He really didn't care. In fact, the only thing he really cared about at the moment was the warm body underneath him and the dizzying pleasure that dominated his senses.

The rhythm of their movements gradually gained speed, with Nigel wantonly raising his hips against Horatio's as their bodies pressed together. Horatio's hands found their way to Nigel's sweat-slicked haunches and gripped there weakly.

All it took was one slip: with one more upwards jerk of Nigel's thighs, Horatio found himself pressed firmly against the perineum and entrance of the man below him, and they both noticed, rather profoundly.

The television was insisting on the stain-removing power of Super-Clean Tile Gel as they caught their breaths and remained motionless. Horatio, who prided himself on his self-control, was having a very difficult time refraining from consummating whatever odd sort of relationship they had presently.

The unspoken question was being silently asked.

"I…" Horatio began, "I… I _want_ to, more so than I thought possible…"

"But," continued Nigel, almost out of breath, "you aren't going to, because--"

"--no protection, no lubrication--"

"--that doesn't mean it has to end this way," he said huskily, leaning up and kissing him heavily on the mouth. He rolled over, straddling Horatio's waist and smirking at him. "Besides," he continued, using a jerk of his head to knock a few locks of hair out of his face, "I've a sneaking suspicion that we'll get to it before long."

Horatio grinned at him and let his hands trail down his sides. "If I get sex this good _without_ penetration, consider your suspicion confirmed."

Smiling, Nigel leaned down and kissed Horatio's lower lip lightly before he began rocking his hips forward, the arousals once again sliding against each other, perspiration making movement all the more easy. Nigel breathed out against Horatio's jaw in a sort of whimsical sigh, accompanied with a soft "Bloody Hell" as a particularly strong jolt of pleasure shot up his spine.

"Have I mentioned," Horatio said, rolling over once again and pinning Nigel gently against the pillow with both hands, "that I love your accent?"

Nigel laughed breathily. "No one so much as notices it back up in Boston. I guess Brits are a rare breed down south," he said, thinking out loud as Horatio easily moved him against the headboard and let one hand trail down across the sharp curve of his hipbone.

The hand didn't stop there, of course: with Nigel half-sitting against the headboard of the bed, Horatio leaned in and kissed him as he curled his hand the shaft, causing an instantaneous reaction of Nigel taking in a sharp breath and bucking his hips upward into his hand.

"Your personality is rarer than your accent," Horatio said against the line of his jaw (which was now almost against his chest). "You're really rather remarkable; a _rara avis_. A _sui generis_, if you will…"

His breath significantly constricted, Nigel gasped, "I'd -- I'd probably know what the hell you just said if you didn't have your hand around my--"

"It means you're unique," Horatio said evenly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One of a kind. Rare breed, indeed." He let the movements of his hand gradually increase, his palm heavy as it moved up and down the length and his thumb brushing the head at random intervals, which seemed to have a very positive affect on Nigel.

His hands were over his head and clutching the top of the headboard, which rocked steadily in time with the movement of his hips. His eyes shut tight and his mouth ajar, his every aspect was screaming that climax was near.

"Hor-- Horatio--"

"Don't hold back," he breathed against his mouth.

"L-like I could e… even if I w-wanted to," Nigel stammered. His climax was so eminent that Horatio could almost taste it, and it only egged him on. Just as he allowed his hand to tighten that much more, Nigel took in a sharp, shuddering breath and his back arched higher than a cat's. "_Aaaghnn--_"

He scrabbled at his shoulders as Horatio felt Nigel's pulsing release against his palm. Horatio wasn't sure if he'd seen anything sexier in his life: the expression on Nigel's face was impossible to describe. Unlike most, Nigel didn't blush, nor did he pale -- in fact, his complexion remained more or less the same. It was the subtleties of his open mouth and arched neck that made him look like a portrait out of the Louvre.

A few moments later, Nigel sagged back against the headboard again, catching his breath as Horatio smiled and released him, shifting to sit next to him.

"God," Nigel finally managed to gasp. "I feel like I need a cigarette, and I don't even smoke."

"Don't pick up the habit on my behalf," Horatio told him sleepily. "It's not worth the cancer."

Nigel threw him a glance. "Hey, don't you go nodding off," he said suddenly. "I'm not through with you just yet."

Horatio raised an eyebrow as Nigel sat fully upright, the sheer white sheet falling off his thigh and pooled around his hip. "Aren't you?" Horatio asked.

"Not even by a long-shot," Nigel replied, raking a hand across his hair to get it out of his face again. "Fair's fair, after all. _Quid pro quo_."

"Using legal terms in bed," Horatio pointed out, smirking. "You're just as bad as Calleigh; an utter work-a-holic."

"Not so," he contradicted indignantly, shifting across to Horatio's side of the bed. "It's not healthy, anyway, getting all wound up with no release. Bad for the body and mind." Nigel leaned down, leaving a single kiss on his breastbone, though not pulling his eyes away from Horatio's. "What's more, I want to."

"God forbid, then, that I say no," Horatio murmured. Smiling like the Cheshire Cat, Nigel crawled back down his body, leaving the occasional kiss somewhere on the expanse of skin. Horatio was grinning vaguely, watching detachedly as Nigel began disappearing beneath the covers. And as he did, he couldn't help but let his mind wander:

What was it that they had? There was certainly lust; denying that would be stupid. Horatio knew that he had a certain level of admiration for Nigel -- he was intelligent, witty, and so very _alive_ that Horatio couldn't help but be drawn to his vitality. But he could sometimes feel something else, in a deeper sense. In his tragedy-hardened fashion, Horatio passed a scenario in his mind -- what would happen if Nigel died? (He'd lost so many people he loved that it had become a habit whenever he felt that he might be falling yet again.)

The idea made Horatio squirm, though he couldn't quite say why. He would do more than care if Nigel were suddenly gone from his life. He barely even wanted to think of it at all.

Which wasn't hard to do, because a few seconds later he felt Nigel's mouth against the side of his arousal, and that was the only thing he was thinking about.

He hissed in a breath and his eyes shut instinctively. The warm, moist tongue was slowly moving up the shaft towards the head, sending lazy waves of pleasure up his spine. Though his breath kept the same rhythm, they were deeper than usual. When he felt the mouth close around the tip, his back arched slightly and his head dropped back and a throaty moan made its way up his throat.

"Christ," he gasped, his chest heaving a bit more noticeably. He could quite literally feel Nigel smirking as he dipped his head lower, taking the better part of his full length into his mouth. With the combined effort of his lips, tongue and (just the tiniest hint of) teeth, Horatio was far-gone. If Nigel hadn't done this before, it certainly didn't show.

Tangling one hair in his hair, Horatio subtly attempted to guide his movements, but Nigel evidently had a plan of his own that certainly wasn't to be changed on a whim. A second later, Horatio felt the head of his cock push against the back of Nigel's throat and he choked on a breath. With the tongue heavy against the underside of the shaft, he dragged his head back up, taking his sweet time, and eventually moving back down. He sighed out shakily and swallowed. He would have been able to think of a better way to describe it if he weren't in his current circumstance.

He was speeding up gradually, his hands settling around Horatio's waist and stomach. Brown eyes flashed up and met Horatio's blue ones, causing the hand to tighten ever so slightly in his hair. Shifting, Nigel allowed himself to go that much faster, keeping his tongue moving quickly along the length and his lips dragging lightly behind. Horatio's head fell back again as climax neared considerably.

He was good at this. A bit too good, he decided. Not that he was going to complain, though. Horatio let himself bask in the feeling as Nigel sped up even more and pulling him closer and closer to the brink. Fire was surging through his veins, and turning everything to white.

"Nigel -- _hnngghh--_"

The peak of climax was sharp and like a temporary high: with an enormous barrelling surge he came with his hair sticking to his forehead and his hands balling into fists on the covers. Nigel made sure to milk it for all it was worth, until, a few moments later, it faded off and settled back to a warm afterglow.

A few minutes later Nigel crawled back towards him, a gentle, sincere smile on his face. When he was eye-to-eye with Horatio, he gently rested his forehead on his and sighed softly. Putting one arm around his shoulders and drawing him a bit farther down, Horatio kissed him once, gingerly on the lips and settled back, warm and content. Nigel slid to off to his left and came to rest next to him, eyes closing.

Horatio decided that whatever it was they had, he didn't want to lose it now or ever.


	11. Boiling in Your Veins

When Horatio awoke to the sound of birds outside the bedroom window, it was about 7:30 and the horizon was already lit with a pinkish glow. Nigel was asleep against him, his breath slow and even and his face near his shoulder. Horatio smiled fondly, if sleepily, and was content to watch him for a few minutes. They didn't have to be at work for an hour, anyway.

Last night had been amazing, he remembered as he memorised the pattern of Nigel's breathing, and if there were a God, it wouldn't be the last they'd share. From somewhere outside, a car rushed down the street, just loud enough to have Nigel stir slightly in his spot.

In a few minutes, his eyes were open, and once he registered who was next to him, he smiled sleepily and laughed half-heartedly.

"Good morning," Horatio said quietly, smiling.

"It is a good morning, isn't it?" Nigel asked, stretching his arms over his head and then collapsing back down to his original position. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven-thirty," he answered. "We've got about an hour. No rush."

"Good. You're warm."

He laughed and put one arm over Nigel, rolling onto him halfway to kiss his lower lip. Grinning, Nigel leaned up into the kiss, tilting his head to one side to deepen it. They allowed it to linger for a few blissfully long seconds before Horatio asked, "Do you want a shower?" against his mouth.

"Nah," he said. "I had one last night. You can go ahead."

"Okay," Horatio said with a smile. He kissed him again, briefly, then rolled off him and climbed off the bed as Nigel sank back onto the mattress, smirking like a fool.

He felt good. Hell, he felt _terrific_. Horatio was terrific. Everything was peachy with a side of keen at that moment, and warmed by the sunlight that streamed through the window. Sighing in unbelievable contentment, he shut his eyes until he heard the sound of rushing water about three minutes later, which prompted him to drag his way out of bed and get dressed.

Just as he was pulling a black v-neck shirt on, he heard Horatio's cell phone ring in its charger on the bedside table. Nigel looked at the bathroom door, which was about a foot open.

"Could you get that? It's probably just Calleigh," he heard Horatio say over the sound of the shower.

"No problem." Nigel grabbed the cell phone and flipped it open, putting it to his ear as he stepped in front of a mirror, trying to tame his unruly hair with one hand. "Hello."

"Horatio?" asked a voice with a Southern slant.

"Morning, Calleigh," he said, making sure Horatio could hear (and he did hear, because Nigel heard him laugh), "H's in the shower at the moment. Nigel speaking, as if you couldn't tell."

"Well, morning to you, too, then," she replied. "I've just got a bit of news on Lester for you."

"Do tell," he said as he wrestled a strand of hair behind one ear.

"Well, Speed did a little back checking on him, and he is British."

"Really?" asked Nigel, surprised. "I didn't hear an accent on him."

"I know. I figure he's hiding it because he doesn't want to be identified," she said. "In fact, I'd be willing to bet it's the same reason he moved away from Hampshire, too."

"Interesting," mused Nigel. "Very interesting. Okay."

Nigel, cell phone in tow, headed to the door of the shower and opened it just enough so he could lean comfortably on the frame. "Latest scoop, Horatio," he said, tilting the mouthpiece of the cell phone down closer to his chest, "turns out Lester _is_ British, after all, and probably hiding his accent."

Horatio was standing behind a translucent black curtain, which fitted the overall theme of black marble in the bathroom. He could see his distorted silhouette from behind.

"Indeed," he said, not appearing the least bit nonplussed at Nigel's informality. "Well, that makes it easier to connect him to La Hire. Did we get any more information to him on the Lovett case? I couldn't get anything out of him last night."

Calleigh apparently heard the question: "Not just yet, but a night in a holding cell seems to have shaken him up a bit. If you interrogate him before you go down to Daytona, he'll probably give you something."

"She says no, but that we should interrogate him today to see if he's had any moments of epiphany overnight," he relayed. "Before we head for Daytona."

"Okay, let's do that."

Nigel nodded and stepped away from the bathroom door. "Sounds like a plan. We'll be there usual time."

"I'll be waiting. Oh, and by the way…"

"Hm?" Nigel was back in front of the mirror again, trying to straighten out his hair.

"Why is it, exactly, that you're so comfortable talking to Horatio while he's in the shower, hmm?" she asked, her voice filled with a rather dark satisfaction.

Nigel didn't reply, but he did smirk.

"Tell me if I'm imagining things, here, Nigel."

"It depends on what you're imagining. And if you are imagining the right thing, I'm surprised that you'd be thinking about it at all, Ms. Duquesne." He flipped it shut and set it back on the table, laughing to himself.

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio idly flipped through the records that Calleigh had prepared for him, leaving Lester adequately tense and squirming on the far side of the table. "So," he said slowly, "you're British. Yet you're hiding your accent."

Lester said nothing and raised his chin in defiance.

"Sounds like you're hiding from something," Horatio pointed out, looking up at him. "So tell me, Mr. Lester, who would frame you for the murder," he continued, reaching to pull out the autopsy photo of Francis Lovett, "of this man?" He slid it onto the table and across to where he could see it.

Lester peered at the picture carefully and sneered. "Lovett? I don't know," he said.

"You know the victim?"

"Yeah, I know him," he replied reluctantly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Business matters."

"Business," Horatio repeated incredulously. "By 'business,' I assume that you really mean 'La Hire's prostitution ring,' am I wrong?"

Lester bared his teeth.

"I'm not out to convict you for anything," said Horatio. "So just answer the question, otherwise I _can_ convict you for obstruction of justice."

He sighed heavily. "Yeah, fine. I knew him through the ring."

Horatio raised his eyebrows. Lovett being a part of the ring had been a shot in the dark, and he was mildly startled at its accuracy. The two cases were more interconnected than he'd thought, and it also meant that Horatio was trying to bring justice to a man who raped children, and he really couldn't say that he liked the idea of that. But he didn't let it show, and continued the questioning.

"Did you and Mr. Lovett have any problems with each other?" he asked.

"You could say that," Lester replied, grinning like a maniac. "I fucked his wife. Worst lay of my life, let me tell you."

He paused. Based on what he'd found out about the Lovetts' marriage, he couldn't see Mr. Lovett getting too upset at Mrs. Lovett for sleeping around, seeing as they didn't even sleep together.

"Well, he obviously wouldn't frame you for his murder, so who would?"

"I don't know," he said. "You get lots of enemies in this business, you know?"

"Stop referring to it as a _business_, Lester; it's not a _business_, it's an illegal sex trafficking ring," snapped Horatio as he looked back down at the file. "I need your best guess. Who could stand to profit from both Lovett's death and your conviction?"

He sighed and sank back into his chair, the hamster wheel in his head turning. Horatio waited for a few minutes before Lester shrugged. "I don't know. I can't think of anybody special."

Horatio drummed his fingers on the edge of the table for a few moments, staring thoughtfully at the two-way mirror, where he was fairly sure Nigel was. If Lester really didn't remember anything, that meant that he was a dead-end, which left La Hire as the last source of information.

"Fine," he said finally. "Then I guess we're done here."

"Can I go?"

"One moment, please," he said, walking across to the door and poking his head out. A few seconds later, Lisette came in, her hands folded in front of her, dressed in a sweater that was too big for her.

When Lester and Lisette saw each other, their eyes went wide at the same moment.

"Lisette, _connais-tu cet homme ?_"

She nodded furiously, backing up into Horatio, who was smirking triumphantly. He looked back at Lester.

"No," he replied. "No, you can't go, because you're under arrest for the rape of Lisette Chastain. Officer?" he said through the door, calling in a policeman to drag him out of the room by one elbow as he recited Lester's Miranda Rights.

Horatio put a hand on Lisette's shoulder and smiled warmly at her. She looked back up at him, her blue-grey eyes brimming with tears. Darting forward suddenly, she hugged him tightly around the middle and buried her face in the side of his stomach. Horatio was almost knocked off-balance, but managed to regain himself. Laughing, he rubbed her back.

"_Merci_," she whispered.

"_De rien_," he replied.

-- -- -- -- --

When Nigel, on the other side of the glass, saw Horatio pull the door to the interrogation room open, he quickly left and walked around towards it. By the time he made it around to the other room, a police officer was already dragging Lester out by the elbow, mid speech:

"… you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, the state will provide you with one…"

Wallowing in dark mirth, he watched as Lester vanished down the hall. Then he turned to look into the interrogation room, where he saw Lisette holding Horatio in a death grip by the waist, and he laughed into his hand, which made Horatio look up.

"Softie," he accused playfully.

Horatio smiled at him, then gently shooed her out of the room, where another police officer was waiting for her in the hall. Nigel could tell Horatio was waiting until she was out of earshot to say:

"We got him for rape."

Nigel beamed. "Excellent."

"Though we may have one the battle, the war has not yet begin," he said, pushing one side of his jacket aside to reach towards his hip. "Ready to take a day trip to Daytona?"

"Always ready for anything," Nigel said, as Horatio produced a gun and handed it to him, handle towards him.

"Your arms as requested," Horatio explained, and Nigel smiled as he took the gun and slit it into his back pocket. "Eric and Officer Schwartz are waiting for us. Come on."

Truthfully, Nigel had never fired a gun in his life. He'd seen plenty, and technically he knew how to cock one and fire it, but he'd never been on the field much and therefore had never found the need to use it. He didn't even own one. Still, it was nice to have it, especially if they were dealing with Carter.

He followed Horatio to a wide staircase that ascended to a higher level, and he peered around, confused.

"Horatio, I know I'm new here, but I'm pretty sure that the front door is one level _down_," he said.

"We won't be needing the front door," Horatio said as he grabbed a door at the top of the flight of stairs and pulled it open. Sunlight flooded down into the stairwell. "We have a better method of getting there."

They were on what looked like the roof, and sitting a few hundred feet away was a helicopter, its sleek white body catching the sunlight. Nigel stopped and stared, even as Horatio moved forward.

"I love Miami," he said weakly. "I really, really do."

"Come along, now," Horatio called. "We can't wait all day."

-- -- -- -- --

By the time they arrived at Daytona Beach, it was about ten o'clock. Daytona was a bit smaller, and significantly buggier, but luckily they wouldn't be staying for long. They took an unmarked police car to downtown, to a grubby supermarket on Bethany Road.

Eric glanced down at the sheet again. "This is it," he said. "According to the witness, Carter comes here every day around 10:30 to buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a six-pack of Heineken beer."

"Smokes, drinks _and_ molests children," Horatio said through his teeth. "What a wonderful example human dignity."

"Yeah, well, in this line of business, you don't get many who are," Eric said, folding up the report with both hands and stuffing it in his pocket. "So we've got just under half an hour. What do you think, H?"

He paused to consider the question. Nigel glanced back at him as he drummed his fingers thoughtfully on his thigh. "Do you think we should find ourselves a S.W.A.T. team, or is it overkill?"

"I'd _like _to get a S.W.A.T., but unfortunately, I think it's a bit much," Eric said with a frown. "Besides, we wouldn't want to scare the civilians."

"Perhaps," Horatio said. "Okay, then let's go for an approach that's slightly more subtle. Three of us can wait while one confronts him. If he doesn't put up a struggle, neither will we. If he makes one wrong move, we'll all come in on him at once."

"I'll do it," Nigel said suddenly.

Horatio looked up at Nigel. He had a resigned look on his face, with his arms over his chest and his posture perfectly straight.

"Are you sure?" he asked carefully, and Nigel nodded immediately.

"Very sure. I want to see his face when twenty years of evading justice comes back to bite him in the arse."

Slowly, Horatio smiled. "Okay," he said. "Okay, you can be waiting for him, and Eric, Officer Schwartz an I can be waiting to help."

-- -- -- -- --

"Okay, Nigel, we see him," said Horatio, followed by a small _blip_ noise. The cell phone -- which also appeared to double as a walkie-talkie -- on his hip vibrated ever slightly with the sound.

"Doesn't look armed, but looks can be deceiving," Eric said. "Be on your guard."

Nigel took in a deep breath and shifted his weight. He was leaning against the wall of the grocery store near the entrance, his jumper hiding his gun and his posture hiding his nervousness.

This really was the point of no return, Nigel realised. After almost twenty years, he would finally see the man that tore his childhood to bits. He wondered if Carter would recognise him, or if he felt any remorse. Not likely on both counts, he thought with a frown.

"Coming towards the door," Horatio said. "Over and out, but right behind you. You know the signal."

He sighed out and turned the cell phone off. A few seconds later, the sliding door opened with a soft ring, and Nigel did his best to stay looking unconcerned.

Then, like it was nothing, Carter walked past him.

"Carter."

He stopped and turned, looking over his shoulder. He looked so much older. Lines stretched down his face and his hair had the beginnings of silver at the roots. Despite the differences, Nigel would never fail to recognise him; not now, not ever.

But Carter didn't seem to recognise him. He cocked one eyebrow upwards and said, "Can I help you with something?"

He had the same Cockney accent, Nigel noted.

"Yeah, you can," he replied, standing upright and raising his chin confidently. "I was wondering if you could answer a few questions."

The look on his face was wary. "About what?"

Nigel moved forward slowly, his hand hovering, ready to grab the gun. "What, don't you recognise me, Carter? I would have thought those five months we spent together would be more memorable."

Carter was piecing things together in his head; Nigel could tell just by looking at him. A few moments later, a wicked sort of smirk curled onto his lips. "Nigel Townsend, why, I'll be damned."

"You certainly will be," Nigel said under his breath.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, putting his hand on his hip. Nigel wanted to beat that cocky smirk right off his face, and with an ounce less self-control, he probably would have. "Come back for more after all these years?"

His hand clenched into a fist. "That depends on what you mean by more," he said icily. "More abuse from you? No." He headed towards him slowly. "But I do want more of something."

Carter looked wholly unconcerned. "And what would that be?"

Nigel knew he couldn't legally arrest him. But Carter didn't know that. So, once he stopped two feet away from him, he said:

"You have the right to remain silent, and I strongly recommend you exercise that right."

Carter's eyes widened. "What--?"

"Anything you say and do will _most definitely_ be held against you in the court of law, you paedophile piece of low-life scum."

"_Bullshit!_" he said. "Absolute bullshit! You can't do this."

"You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney -- which I doubt, considering all the laundered money you've been making off pimping little kids -- the state will reluctantly provide you with one."

"Shut the hell up!" he roared. "You can't do this!"

Nigel wordlessly pulled out his gun and pressed it against his breastbone, which shut Carter up very quickly.

"Would you like to try me?" he hissed.

"Put the gun down, Nigel," Carter said, and Nigel took a huge satisfaction in the fear that was laced in his voice.

"I don't think so," said Nigel darkly. "I've been waiting eighteen years to see you fry, Carter. Did you really think I wouldn't come back for you -- that I'd just forget it?"

Carter snarled at him. "Are you kidding me? You _liked _every second of it, you little whore."

Nigel cocked the gun. Carter stiffened.

"You destroyed my childhood," he said calmly. "For five months, you made my life hell. Well, _Mister_ Carter, I've come back just to make sure that you get the same hell I felt -- for the rest of your life."

Carter's fierce black eyes burned into Nigel's, and Nigel didn't flinch for a second. For a long moment, they stood there, eye-to-eye and completely silent.

Eventually, Carter said, "I must say, I didn't expect this. But that's no matter, really…"

In the blink of an eye, Carter pulled out a gun and fired, the shot echoing across the foyer. Nigel heard screaming as a bolt of pain shot through his stomach.

"_Nigel!!_"


	12. Vengeance in Your Air

Horatio could have sworn that when he heard that gunshot ring out, he'd felt his heart drop into his small intestine. The shot had come on so fast that even Horatio couldn't see Carter's hands moving. All he saw was, a split second later, Nigel toppling back and his head colliding with the ground in a sickening crack. Every drop of blood rushed out of his face in an instant, and before he even heard the screaming of the civilians around him, he stood up.

"_Nigel!!_"

Eric was only a moment behind him. "_I need everyone to get out of the way now!_"

Horatio was fuelled by rage at this point. He rushed forward, gun out. "_Drop your weapon, Carter!_"

"Miami Dade Police," Eric shouted. "Get out of the way!"

Carter turned to him and snarled, ducking behind a counter and holding the gun at eye level over the belt and firing three rounds at Horatio. He ducked down and hurried across the room, kicking a long line of shopping carts forward to block the path. Bullets ricocheted off the metal as Horatio crouched down next to Nigel, who was also behind the line of carts, putting his gun away.

"Nigel," he said breathlessly, crouching down next to him and pulling at his sweater. To his relief, he saw a fine, smoking hole in the Kevlar vest and he breathed out. "Okay," he said. "The Kevlar caught it. Nigel, the Kevlar caught it, you'll be fine!"

But Nigel was still struggling to breathe; the shot had probably knocked the wind out of him. Judging on the position, there was a good chance that it had hit his diaphragm, which gave Horatio limited time to get a paramedic. He grabbed his cell phone from his waist and flipped it open, using the walkie-talkie feature.

"This is Lieutenant Horatio Caine with the MDPD; I need all units on the J-Mart supermarket _now_. We have a man down and we need fire and rescue!" he said loudly, putting it away again pulling off his coat to put it underneath Nigel's head. When he pulled his hand back, it was stained in blood.

He gritted his teeth. Nigel had a spacey look on his face, his brown eyes glazed over. He gripped Nigel by one shoulder and looked down at him firmly.

"Nigel. Nigel, listen to me. You're going to be fine, okay?" he said. "Don't you dare leave me now, you--" He sighed out and went silent, knowing that Nigel probably couldn't hear him. "Just stay with me, _please_," he said as he reached back around for his gun. "Stay with me…"

He'd already lost one person he loved to a gunshot, and he wasn't going to lose another.

Coming up from behind the long line of shopping carts, he took aim and fired five rounds at the man crouched behind the counter. The screams of the people fell on deaf ears; the only thing Horatio cared about was Carter getting a pair of cuffs slapped on him before the day was over. He saw the man flinch away from Horatio's firing, but he quickly turned and fired back.

Horatio heard the _click-click_. He'd run out of ammunition.

Going on an instinct, Horatio shot up and dashed around the line of shopping carts, both hands on his cocked gun, ready and very willing to fire. He could see the desperation on Carter's face as Horatio drew closer to him.

"Drop your weapon, Carter!" he barked. "Don't make this worse than it already is!"

Horatio could hear Eric running up behind him, going wide to his left. They were about twenty feet away, and he saw Carter ducking down again; he could hear the sound of him reloading a new magazine.

A few seconds later, he stood up, gun out. Horatio fired and Carter toppled back onto the floor.

He dashed forward toward the checkout. When he looked around the belt, he saw Carter on the floor, gripping his left shoulder and taking several hissing breaths through his teeth. Horatio kept his gun trained on his head.

"Eric," he said, "get the people out and bring the fire and rescue in when they get here." He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that Eric was already on it.

Carter was breathing hard and glaring up at him. Horatio glared down at him, keeping his gun trained squarely between Carter's eyes.

"Drop… the… weapon," he said, and a moment later Carter's gun, still clutched in his weak hand, clattered against the floor. Horatio kicked it aside and crouched down, pressing the end of the barrel of the gun against his cheek and cocking it. Carter swallowed, but the malice didn't drop off his face for a moment.

"You evil piece of slime," Horatio snarled. "I hope you realise that the only reason I haven't blown your twisted brains out yet is because of twenty years of police training."

"Just shoot me," Carter gasped, the bloody hand over his wound tightening. "Either way, I'm going to die."

Horatio glared ice at him. "No," he said. "Do you know why? Because I told the boy you raped twenty years ago… I said that he could see the look on your face when you were arrested; I intend to make sure that he can. And what's more," he continued, pressing the barrel harder against his cheekbone, "I wouldn't mind seeing you strapped on the chair, either."

Carter just snarled.

"Get up," he snapped, intentionally grabbing his wounded shoulder and slamming him down against the conveyer belt. "Hands behind your back, you sick son of a bitch."

Officer Schwartz, who'd been outside directing the pedestrians away, came running back in with a pair of handcuffs, which he promptly used to confine Carter. Horatio pushed him forward, and then hurried back over to Nigel. Fire and rescue hadn't arrived; he'd heard no sirens.

He crouched down next to him. "Nigel -- Nigel, can you hear me? We got him, he's in custody," he said.

Despite his obvious state of delirium, Nigel smiled faintly. "Good," he managed to say.

Horatio put his gun away and moved toward him, helping him to sit up. "We're going to get you help, okay? Fire and rescue is on the way," he said as Nigel nodded dizzily. "Nigel," he said, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly, "don't you dare die on me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Nigel told him softly, smiling. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"Good. Because one person I loved has already been murdered, and I don't want there to be another one."

Nigel watched him quietly for a few moments, and then said, "If that's… a roundabout way of saying 'I love you,' then… I love you, too."

He swallowed hard, somewhere between laughing and crying. "Then just hold on," he said. "Hold on."

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio hated hospitals. In retrospect, it probably wasn't a good idea to go into the criminology field, but it was a bit late for that.

He hated them because so many horrid, life-altering events had taken place in hospitals; he always tried his best not to think about them. And now here he was, in the waiting room _yet again_, hunched over his knees and waiting -- just waiting.

It had been almost two hours since Nigel had been admitted. The doctors had told him absolutely nothing, which wasn't helping anything. Around one o'clock, Eric came over and quietly sat down next to him.

"Hey, H," he said.

"Hey," he greeted, forcing a smile.

"Brought you some chips. Hungry?" He offered a bag of rippled potato chips.

"Not really," he replied honestly, glancing at the door about thirty feet away. "I'm guessing you know about as much as I do."

"Jack over shit? Yeah, that's about right," Eric said. "His cell phone went off a few minutes ago. It was some guy named…" He rummaged in his pocket; he'd apparently taken a message. "Named Dr. Garret Macy," he finished. "Apparently he's Nigel's boss. Someone must have notified him about Nigel getting hurt, because he's taking a _train_ down from Boston with a few other employees. He should be here by tomorrow morning."

Horatio nodded. That wasn't anywhere near the top of his list of concerns, but he'd keep it mind.

They sat in silence for a while, until a few minutes later, a doctor in pale blue scrubs came out with a clipboard, and Horatio got to his feet as he came towards them.

"Doctor?" he prompted.

The doctor stopped a few feet away. "He's fine."

Realistically, Horatio knew that, but it was still an incredible relief to hear it from a professional.

"His diaphragm was going into spasms, but we sedated it and now it's functioning normally," the doctor elabourated. "The wound on his head was minor and stopped bleeding over an hour ago. He's fully conscious and complaining about the food."

He laughed. "So he's doing well mentally, too," he said. "Good. Could I see him, please?"

"Of course; right this way," the doctor replied, pointing towards the door with one hand. Horatio nodded his thanks and walked toward it, pushing it open.

The door swung inward and the first thing he saw was Nigel prodding what appeared to be a lump of greenish mush with his fork on the tray in front of him. "Oh, gross," he muttered, "I think it just moved…"

"Hey," Horatio said, smiling as he moved to the side of his bed. "The doctor says you're doing well."

Nigel glanced up at him and laughed. "Yeah. I kept telling them I was fine, but no one believed me; they never do."

Horatio pulled up a chair from against the wall and sat down next to him. "So Eric ended up taking a call from your cell phone. Does the name Garret Macy ring a bell?"

"Dr. Macy? Yeah, I work for him back up in Boston," he said with a nod. "Why did he call?"

"He must have heard about your injury and wanted to make sure you were okay. According to Eric, he and a few others are taking the train down from Boston."

Nigel smiled weakly. "Yeah, that… that sounds like them." He set the tray aside on the bedside table and shifted into a more upright position against the headboard. "So."

"So…"

"You're still holding Carter?"

"Yes," Horatio said reassuringly. "He's in custody, waiting to be questioned."

Nigel sighed out low and sank against the pillow. "Good. Very good. You have no idea how nice it is to finally hear that."

"No, I don't," Horatio agreed, "but I can guess."

"Thank you, by the way," he said, slowly shifting to turn around. He let his legs dangle off the edge of the hospital bed, facing Horatio directly. "You saved my life back there."

"Well, if you meant what you said," Horatio said, moving his hand to grip Nigel's, "you would have done the same for me, and for the same reason."

Nigel smiled slowly, gripping back. "And I did. As terribly inconvenient as it is, I love you."

"Well, it's not supposed to be convenient, is it?" he asked rhetorically, smirking. Nigel laughed quietly as Horatio looked down for a moment, observing the hands that were clasped together on the bed near his knee. A few tense seconds later, Horatio looked back up. "As much as I hate to say this, I need to get back to the lab."

"Of course. And I'm coming with you," he said, grabbing his neatly folded clothes from the bedside table and rising. Horatio blinked up at him.

"That's probably not the best idea; the doctors haven't released you."

"Oh, bugger the doctors," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I hate hospitals, anyway; they give me the heebie-jeebies. Besides, I'm _fine_." He pulled the curtain shut and changed. "You know it, I know it, and I think the doctors know it, too."

When the curtain pulled back again, Nigel was in the same attire he'd worn at the shoot-out. Horatio eyed the hole in his shirt.

"Are you sure you want to wear that?" he asked. "The bullet hole is still there."

"What, you don't think it symbolises my rugged, untamed manliness?"

Horatio snorted. "Well, it symbolises something."

"You know, with a shirt like this, people could mistake me for Rambo," Nigel said pointedly, his voice dipped in sarcasm.

"You are unbelievable," Horatio said as he stood up.

"Why, thank you."

-- -- -- -- --

When Nigel, Eric, Horatio and Officer Schwartz got out of the helicopter, the blades were still turning rapidly, leaving no hair un-tousled. They made their way across the roof to the stairwell and once the door closed behind him, they could finally hear themselves think.

"One down, one to go," Horatio said, pulling off his sunglasses. "Eric, once La Hire gets back down to Miami, let's grill him for everything he's worth, okay?"

Eric nodded. "You got it, H," he said, the first one down the steps.

"Officer, thank you. You acted excellently." Horatio gave Schwartz one of those all-too-rare smiles and clapped him on the arm. Schwartz, a middle-aged gentleman with a thin moustache and twinkling grey eyes, smiled back at him.

"All in a day's work," he said. "I'll see you later, Lieutenant." He nodded at Horatio, who nodded back, and headed down the staircase about ten feet behind Eric. The echo of the footsteps got softer and softer until they vanished and Horatio was left alone with him.

"And Nigel," he continued. "Scare me like that again and I'm going to have to tie you up."

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "That actually doesn't sound so bad," he teased, smirking. "We should try that later."

Horatio laughed quietly. "Oh, and speaking of which," he continued, "during the few hours of pandemonium between Carter's arrest and your release -- of sorts -- from the hospital, I made a pit-stop at a pharmacy."

"_Rea_lly."

"Really," he confirmed. "Let's call it a present to be opened after work."

"And it's not even my birthday."

-- -- -- -- --

"Look," Horatio said calmly, "it's late. We both want to get this over with. It's a beautiful Friday evening and neither of us wants to waste it here. So why don't you just cut the bullshit and answer my question?"

Carter crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him. "I got the right to remain silent, don't I? This is America, after all."

"Yes," he agreed, "you do have the right to remain silent. And I have the right to strap you onto the electric chair once a disgusted jury finds you guilty on all counts. That, or you can cooperate and maybe -- if you're lucky -- get away with L-WOP. So what's it going to be?"

He was silent for a few moments, then heaved a heavy sigh. "What was his name again?"

"Lovett. Francis Lovett." Horatio slid the autopsy photo across the table. Carter peered at it disdainfully and one side of his mouth lifted in a sneer.

"Yeah, I know him. One of the division leaders."

"Division leaders?"

"I don't run no haphazard business, mate," he drawled. "It's organised, you know? Different kids go to different parts, and I got a different man for each of them."

"I see," Horatio said evenly. "And what division was Lovett running?"

"The Miami division, of course." He sunk back into his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

"Do you know of anyone who'd want him dead?"

He scoffed. "Plenty. He wasn't too subtle about his, ah… interests. Even his wife knew."

Horatio looked up sharply. "Indeed?"

"Yeah. Never met the bitch myself, but apparently she does nothing but whine."

"Mhm," he said pensively, putting a hand on his hip and staring down at the table. All signs kept pointing to Mrs. Lovett, but Horatio couldn't get the look on her face out of his mind -- she looked so genuinely shocked and worried that it was difficult to believe she had anything to do with it.

"All right," Horatio said finally. "You're free to go for now."


	13. Strangers in Your Midst

Miami may have been unbearably humid and full of mosquitoes, but the view sure was beautiful. From the window of Horatio's bedroom, Nigel saw out across the city, lit by the remaining light of the sun that had long since set behind the horizon. His senses were trained on the soft, almost inaudible sound of migratory birds that dusted across the skyline and the rags of twilight that were beginning to be visible.

An arm slid around him from behind and he felt a mouth against the side of his neck. Nigel grinned and leaned back into him. "Glad for the weekend?"

"Mhm. Thank God it's Friday," Horatio said against his skin. "Tired?"

"Not in the least," laughed Nigel, turning around in Horatio's arms and leaning back against the windowsill with a smile that lingered between cocky and devious.

"Can't blame me for asking. You have had a pretty trying day," he pointed out, resting his forehead against Nigel's. "Went undercover, confronted your rapist, got shot -- I'd say that's reason to be tired."

"Maybe for those of weaker constitution." Nigel kissed him briefly. "Me? I can take it. So you mentioned you had a gift."

"Yes," he said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a slender box. "Happy un-birthday."

"Why, thank you, Mad Hatter," Nigel replied, moving one hand from Horatio's shoulder to take the box and turn it label-out to read it. "Hmm. 'Guatama pre-lubricated condoms,'" he read. "'As close to Nirvana as is possible to be.'" He snorted. "That's so _zen_."

"Believe it or not, that was one of the less obnoxious brands," Horatio said. "It was either that or Roman brand: 'The power of a gladiatorial battle and the comfort of Caesar's palace.'"

Nigel cracked up. "You're joking!"

"Unfortunately not," Horatio said with a smirk, using the hands around Nigel's waist to pull him closer.

"I swear, the American marketing scheme is pathetic," he said, returning his arm to its original position around Horatio's neck and leaning in to kiss him.

"Preaching to the choir," Horatio murmured, smirking against his mouth as he turned and led Nigel blindly across the four-foot gap towards the bed. Nigel collapsed back onto it and took Horatio down with him, sprawled out across the unmade bed and letting one hand tangle in the hair of the man above him and the other pull at the box of condoms.

"So," muttered Nigel as his index finger slid under the lid, "feel like having a near-Nirvana experience?"

"Very ready," he said, "but for some reason, I don't think that will be the condom's doing."

"Well, aren't you sweet… sort of."

Horatio just laughed as he leisurely shrugged off his outer shirt. Nigel leaned up and kissed the exposed skin as he wriggled out of his own shirt (Horatio tried to ignore the bandage around his stomach).

"You know," Nigel said lazily, "we should be very grateful to Ingrid Bergman." Horatio made a soft noise of inquiry as they continued undressing and gradually moved closer to the centre of the bed. "Were it not for _Casablanca_, we very well may not be where we are. You have to admit," he continued as he enticingly tore one condom off from the other two that were attached to it, "it's wonderfully ironic. One of the greatest romances of all time…"

Smirking, Horatio took the single condom and leaned down to kiss him. With their clothes now lying in various places on the foot of the bed and floor, it was nothing but skin on hot skin as their bodies pressed together. "At least we don't have to deal with any Nazis."

Nigel laughed and arched his hips up, adding to the subtle friction. "Nor do we have to chew the scenery, though to her credit, she does it very well…"

He tore the corner of the package with his teeth and spit it off the side of the bed, still grinning. "Speaking of movies," he said, "I don't suppose you ever saw _Who Framed Roger Rabbit_? It came out in the late '80s, I think…"

Nigel delicately took the condom from the package and reached down, delicately pushing it over the top of his arousal. "I wasn't in America in the '80s, why?" he asked, though there was only one thing on his mind.

"Because," he explained as he assisted in pulling the condom down the length, "there's one line that always reminds me of you."

He raised an eyebrow at Horatio.

"The main character is zany and irreverent," Horatio said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he shifted his hips and gently pressed down against Nigel's entrance. "And at one point… at one point, one of the other characters asks his wife what it is she saw in him."

Nigel swallowed hard, torn between hearing the story out and forcing Horatio into him before he would lose his fucking mind.

"She said, and I quote," he whispered against Nigel's lips, "'He makes me laugh.'"

Horatio shifted his hips forward and breached only about half an inch before Nigel buckled at the waist and choke on his own breath. He dug his hands into Horatio's shoulders and shut his eyes tightly, breathing hard until the sudden jab of pain would fade.

Meanwhile, Horatio was beginning to understand what the condom meant by 'close to Nirvana.' Nigel was exquisitely tight, making him thoroughly regret not having slept with a man before. Keeping still only by his innate self-control, he slowly opened his eyes and saw Nigel panting and he realised for the first time that his fingernails were digging into his shoulders.

He bit his lower lip anxiously, genuine concern suddenly overriding his sex drive. "Nigel," he said softly, "are you okay? Do you want me to sto--?"

"Do so and die," he said through his teeth. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at him. "No, I bloody well don't -- don't want you stop," he said as he caught his breath. "You feel -- it's -- it's exquisite, but just… just give me a minute."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Horatio's face and he leaned down, kissing the lines of his neck. "Just say when," he said quietly, and he felt Nigel nod.

It only took a few more moments for Nigel's breath to even. When it was slow enough to be considered normal, he gave Horatio a jerk of a nod, and he really needed no other incentive: dropping kisses on his face in an attempt to lessen any more pain, he slowly moved his hips forward again, burying himself that much more in the impossibly tight channel.

The noise Nigel was making was difficult to classify as either pleasure or pain. His back was arched hungrily off the bed but his eyes were screwed shut. With his mouth open, Nigel blindly shifted so his legs wound around Horatio's waist, and he used the leverage to pull him in further.

The extra movement was enough to send Horatio completely collapsing into Nigel, and his head was absolutely swimming. Horatio wasn't Buddhist, but he suddenly believed in the idea of Nirvana. This time he, too, needed a bit of time to adjust to the sensation, despite the overwhelming desire to do the exact opposite.

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ," Nigel gasped a moment later.

"Seconded," Horatio said with a breathy laugh as he leaned down to kiss him hard on the mouth. Nigel returned it hungrily, his arms twining around his neck as Horatio pulled back out and smoothly pushed back in. He'd since relaxed around him, which made the second thrust much easier but no less appealing. Horatio heard Nigel let out a shaky moan and he felt his arms tighten around his shoulders.

The word "Horatio" was moaned in the general direction of his ear as his pace gradually became more rapid and more intense. Nigel was having a bit of difficulty remembering to do things like breathe when he was caught up in the feeling of Horatio buried deeper than seemed possible -- not to mention the direct stimulation of the prostate, about which he wasn't complaining, either. Each time he pushed inside he felt a tiny jolt race up his spine, and each time it got progressively more noticeable.

Kissing him almost desperately, Horatio tangled one hand in Nigel's hair as instinct began to take over. In an almost wanton way, Nigel lifted his hips as if to pull him in that impossible inch deeper while Horatio's free hand dragged lazily down his thigh. Breaths quickened and Horatio's strict self-control began to crumble as climax approached, apparently for the both of them.

Nigel was making soft, almost inaudible noises against Horatio's lips as the thrusts became dramatic enough to make the headboard thump faintly against the wall. He could almost taste orgasm for how close it was as he continued rocking into Nigel, who was gripping his shoulders like a lifeline.

With one last jerk forward, Nigel was sent rocketing over the edge; with his arousal trapped between their two bodies, he peaked at the climax and every part of him seized up, which certainly did not go unnoticed. Horatio's breath hitched and he pushed in again and stilled. Thanks to the condom, Nigel couldn't be entirely certain, but he could make an educated guess, which was confirmed when Horatio breathed out against his neck.

Their breaths began to even and the sound of his heart beating in his eardrum became less apparent. A few moments later, Horatio opened his eyes again and looked down at Nigel.

Then they both synchronously collapsed into laughter.

-- -- -- -- --

"How come Florida gets all the shiny toys?" Nigel pouted as he watched Alexx used a hand-held x-ray machine on the cadaver of an old Hispanic woman. "We don't get anything that cool in Massachusetts."

"Because apparently someone up there likes up," Alexx responded with a smirk.

"Who, God?"

"No, the government."

Nigel laughed. "Oh, so they're playing favourites, are they? Well, that's just lovely…"

One of the doubles door leading into the autopsy room swung open. Delko poked his head through and glanced at them. "There you are."

"Here we are," Alexx chirped. "What do you need, honey?"

"Just Nigel, actually," Eric said. "Your Boston friends are here, and one of them won't shut up."

Nigel grinned ear-to-ear. "That would be Jordan," he said. "Alexx, come on, you've got to meet them!"

He ended up tugging her out by the wrist, barely giving her enough time to set the x-ray machine down and pull off her gloves. Having since memorised his way around the crime lab, it didn't take long for Nigel to make his way to the entrance, where, sure enough, Macy, Jordan, Bug and Lily were waiting in the foyer.

Jordan was the first to look up. "Nigel, _there _you are!"

"Jordan, hey," he said, pulling her into a hug. "Wow, I actually missed you."

"Stop acting like you're surprised," Jordan said, tightening the hug briefly and then pulling back. "For just getting shot in the stomach, you seem to be pretty peppy."

"Nigel," Macy greeted, coming over and patting him on the back. "We never did hear what that was about."

"It was a shoot-out at a J-Mart," Nigel said, perhaps a bit too happily. "But it's okay, I was wearing bullet-proof armour, so no harm done. Hey, Buggles!"

"Don't _call_ me that," he snapped defensively, but even he succumbed to a hug. "It's good to see you, by the way. But if you get shot again, I'm not forgiving you."

"Hi, Nigel," Lily said, popping out of nowhere and hugging him around the middle. Nigel was caught off-guard, but he laughed and returned it, anyway. "Total bummer about that storm, huh? But we bought an extra ticket back just for you."

Nigel faltered as the idea of leaving -- actually leaving -- was forced into his mind. He bit down on his lower lip, but before he could respond, there was a voice from behind.

"Friends from Boston, I assume?"

He looked over his shoulder. Horatio was standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, studying the newcomers with detached interest.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Uhm -- Horatio, this is Garret Macy, Jordan Cavanaugh, Mahesh Vijay -- just call him Bug --, and Lily Lebowski. Guys, this is Lieutenant Horatio Caine."

"Oh-ho-ho," Jordan cackled. "_Really_, now? Well, that is certainly interesting."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Horatio said with a nod, gracefully choosing to ignore her comment. "Welcome to Miami Dade."

"Well, with any luck we won't be staying long," Macy said. "The train is heading back up to Boston in about five hours."

And once again, Nigel faltered. He swallowed and looked over at Horatio, who seemed to be thinking the exact same thing, though he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve quite as blatantly as Nigel.

Five hours. So Nigel had five hours to figure out just what he wanted to do -- stay in Miami and be with Horatio, or go back home and be without him. Five hours.

"I, uhm…" he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, Dr. Macy, I… there's something I have to--"

But Nigel couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Macy raised his eyebrows at Nigel as if to prompt him, but his voice was lost somewhere in his trachea for a few very long moments. Eventually, he said:

"I… I don't think I'm going back to Boston."


	14. Difficulty in Your Choices

Nigel really didn't like the shocked expression on Macy's face. He was staring at the window that showed the busy hallway on the other side. The rest of his friends weren't looking too pleased, either, except Jordan, who had an extremely smug smirk on her face. Thankfully, Horatio was all but three feet away, and with him right there, Nigel felt as if he could brave anything.

"Dr. Macy?" he prompted worriedly, wringing his hands together.

"You… Nigel, _why?_"

"Err," he said carefully, "I wish there was an easy answer to that. The long of the short of it is this: I've… I've fallen in love."

Macy looked up at him, his shocked face softened with incredible confusion. "What? With who?"

Nigel hesitantly looked over his shoulder. Horatio was leaning against the panel of glass with his arms crossed over his chest, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. He nodded to Macy once, and when Nigel looked back, each of them had a different reaction: Bug looked genuinely surprised, Jordan still looked smug, Lily looked ecstatic, and Macy looked like Nigel had just grown a second head.

"Oh, Nigel, I'm so happy for you!" Lily said, hurrying over to hug him again. "Congratulations, that's wonderful!"

"Thanks, Lily," he replied, hugging her back awkwardly.

"I guess that explains why you said what you said," Bug said, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "But what I'm confused about is--"

"Hang on, hang on, hang on," Macy interrupted. "You -- wait, with _him?_" Nigel gave him a perplexed look, wondering if it hadn't been clear. He nodded. "You're… gay?"

"Yes," Nigel said as though it were obvious. "You didn't know?"

"Well, I didn't notice anything," Macy replied defensively.

"Dr. Macy, with all due respect," Bug said, "I'm pretty sure dogs notice something."

"In _spite_ of it," Macy said, rising to his feet, "Nigel, you can't be serious! You're not going back just because -- what -- you think you're in love?"

"I _know_ I'm in love," Nigel said, his feathers ruffled at the comment. "And it seems to me like a pretty worthy reason to stay behind in Miami to me."

"You can't just up and leave!" Macy said with his voice growing louder.

Suddenly, Horatio interjected: "I really think that isn't your decision, Dr. Macy."

Macy turned to him, simmering anger visible behind his face. Nigel groaned silently and rubbed his eyes, knowing that this wasn't going to end nicely. Macy walked past him to face Horatio, who didn't even seem to be capable of flinching away.

"Nigel is one of the best criminologists I have on staff," he said through his teeth, "and if you think for a second that I'm going to let him leave just because he's--"

"He has the power to leave at any time; that's his right," Horatio said evenly.

"I'm sure once he comes to his senses, his opinion will change!"

"_Excuse me!_" Nigel said loudly. Luckily, they were in an interrogation room, otherwise everyone in the building would have paused at the sudden noise. "Would the two alpha males please go to their separate corners?"

Macy sighed out and crossed his arms over his chest and Horatio just watched Nigel for a few more moments as the room fell into silence.

Nigel stepped between them. "Horatio," he said, putting both hands on his shoulders, "I love you. That is not going to change anytime soon." Then he looked back at Macy. "Dr. Macy, I love my job in Boston, and that's not going to change, either." He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. "However," he continued, a bit less urgently, "I have to and already have been thinking. I had to decide which I loved more -- my job in Boston or Horatio."

Nigel looked quietly up at Macy, searching his face, which was trained and blank.

"And it's Horatio," he said. "I'm sorry, Dr. Macy. You'll have my resignation by next week."

Macy stared at him silently, and then sank back against the panel of glass.

"You trust Nigel's judgment, Garret," Jordan said gently, "I know you do, otherwise you wouldn't have hired him in the first place. So trust him now -- especially now, when he needs it. It's obviously not easy for him."

For a few agonisingly long seconds, Macy said nothing. Eventually he looked up and met Nigel's eyes.

"You really love him?" he asked.

"Yes," Nigel replied, sounding almost sad.

He sighed. "Okay," Macy said finally. "Then I guess you… have my blessing."

-- -- -- -- --

"_Excuse me!_ Would the two alpha males please go to their separate corners?" Nigel snapped. Obligingly, Horatio fell silent as the man across from him sighed out, aggravated. It wasn't long before Nigel was standing across from him, his hands on his shoulders.

"Horatio," he said with an undertone of urgency, "I love you. That is not going to change anytime soon." Horatio smiled at him, but he was already returning his attention to his boss. "Dr. Macy, I love my job in Boston, and that's not going to change, either."

Nigel pushed a hand through his hair and he sighed; Horatio could see the conflict etched into every line of his face. "However, I have to and have already been thinking," he said. "I had to decide which I loved more -- my job in Boston or Horatio." With that, Nigel looked up and met Macy's eyes.

"And it's Horatio. I'm sorry, Dr. Macy. You'll have my resignation by next week."

As Macy sank back against the panel of glass, Horatio was reminded at just what Nigel was giving up. He loved, as he said, his job in Boston, but he loved Horatio more, and that meant a lot.

Suddenly, the woman with long, dark curls spoke up: "You trust Nigel's judgment, Garret, I know you do, otherwise you wouldn't have hired him in the first place." Horatio gave her a sideways glance as she spoke. She was moving slowly towards Macy, her leather sling-backs making soft clicks on the floor. "So trust him now -- especially now, when he needs it. It's obviously not easy for him."

Horatio watched as Macy stared at the floor for a few moments and then looked up at Nigel. "You really love him?"

"Yes," Nigel said softly.

He swallowed. "Okay," Macy said. "Then I guess you… have my blessing."

There seemed to be a universal, if quiet, sigh of relief. Horatio was completely silent before he put a hand on Nigel's shoulder. "Nigel," he said softly, "can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

He looked up at Horatio. "Yeah, of course."

Horatio nodded. "Excuse me," he said, moving around Macy with Nigel a step behind. Ever hopelessly chivalrous, Horatio held the door open as Nigel headed through and closed it after him.

"What was it that you wa--"

Horatio grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him as hard as he was able. Clearly caught off-guard, Nigel stumbled back slightly but landed against the wall, allowing Horatio to pull his hands down Nigel's arms and slide them around his waist to pull him closer.

It took Nigel a few moments to catch on, and when he did his eyes were closed. Horatio held the kiss, very intent on getting his message through in as few words as possible. Incredible gratitude, warmth, love -- how unbelievably humble he felt and how he'd just fallen in love with him all over again. How he was then surer than ever before that Nigel meant the world to him.

When the kiss finally ended, Nigel looked sufficiently swept off his feet. Horatio leaned his forehead against Nigel's.

"I love you," Horatio said quietly. "Have I mentioned that lately?"

Nigel nodded mutely. "You might have said something about it, yeah."

"You're sure about this," he said, unsure if it was a statement or a question.

"Completely sure," Nigel insisted. "I couldn't leave even if I wanted to, knowing what I'd be leaving behind." Nigel smiled at him and rested both hands on either side of Horatio's head, who turned and kissed one palm briefly.

"Then I most humbly welcome you to the Miami Dade Crime Lab."

-- -- -- -- --

"I love you," Horatio whispered to him as he rested his forehead against his own. "Have I mentioned that lately?"

Nigel was dizzy. It wasn't as though it was the first time he'd been kissed, but _wow_. It was as if that particular kiss had a life of its own, and its purpose was to put across enough emotion and meaning to knock him completely off his feet (and it had worked, too).

"You might have said something about it, yeah," Nigel said breathlessly.

"You're sure about this," Horatio said carefully.

"Completely sure. I couldn't leave even if I wanted to, knowing what I'd be leaving behind," he said, smiling as he reached up and put a hand on either side of his face. Horatio turned and kissed his left palm.

"Then I most humbly welcome you to the Miami Dade Crime Lab," he said.

Nigel smirked and leaned in to kiss him again, but only for a few seconds. He pulled back and headed back into the examination room, where they were talking amongst each other quietly. They all simultaneously looked up when he arrived.

"Hey, Nigel," Lily said, "do you want to come back with us to pick up your things?"

He paused. "Err, no, I'm going to have to decline," he replied. "In the middle of a rather important case that I can't afford to miss."

Macy twitched.

"That's fine," Jordan said before Macy could say anything. "We don't mind waiting for--"

The door opened. Nigel turned and saw Calleigh in the doorway wearing a triumphant smile. "Horatio, we got a statement from that little French girl. Of course, we can't read it, but that's why we have Nigel."

"Really? That's excellent," Horatio said, temporarily distracted. "Location of her ring division?"

"Possibly -- that's why I came to ask you." Calleigh looked back at the group but her eyes stopped mid-scan. Perplexed, Nigel glanced back and found that Jordan was staring right back at her.

"Uh… hi," Jordan said finally.

"Hello," Calleigh replied with a hesitant smile.

"Oh, err -- Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh, ME," she said, offering a hand that was promptly shaken.

"Calleigh Duquesne, CSI -- ballistics," Calleigh responded. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, mutually."

Nigel made a "hmm" sound and raised his eyebrows. It seemed as though he might have a reason to torment Jordan now.

"You know what, Garret, why don't the rest of you go ahead without me?" she said, looking back at them. "I think I might hang around a bit. Just to -- you know -- help Nigel."

"Yeah," Nigel said incredulously, "because I'm completely incompetent."

"Uh-huh, exactly," Jordan said, obviously not having heard a word. "I'll catch up with you all when he comes to get his things, okay?"

"Uhm…"

Macy, Bug and Lily all exchanged perplexed glances and shrugs.

"Okay," Macy said finally. "That sounds fine, I suppose. Weird, but fine."

"Great," she said distractedly. "Duquesne, did you say? Is that Southern?"

They walked out together and Nigel snorted. Oh, there was no way he would let her live this down.


	15. Abandoned in Your Hell

Nigel was updating his blog when the fax machine to his left started to buzz and hum. He looked away from the screen and saw that one of the sheets of paper from the ream in the back of it was being pulled down.

Puzzled, he pushed the chair away from the laptop and turned his head so he could read what was being written as it was printed out. On it was what appeared to be a sloppy, hand-written statement on a piece of notebook paper. Once Nigel recognised what it was, he smirked.

He snatched the paper the minute it was done printing and hurried off through the dark hallway. It was past midnight and he'd promised that he'd be up to bed once he'd filled in his loyal readers on about the recent goings-on in Miami. But it could wait for this.

"How now, Horatio," he said as he rounded the corner from the bedroom to the attached bathroom. "I have a wonderful surprise for you."

Horatio was brushing his teeth as Nigel entered, so replying was out of the question. Instead, he raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Nigel held up the piece of paper with one hand and used the other to hop up on the counter next to the sink.

"Have a look at this! Calleigh must have just faxed it over." He held it in front of his face and Horatio's hand paused to examine the contents. Just as his brow arched and he reached for it, Nigel pulled it back. "Ah-ah-ah. Spit."

Horatio rolled his eyes but did so, grabbing a cup of water from the other side of the sink and rinsing before he turned back to Nigel. "Is this a statement?"

"From dear old Carter, himself," Nigel grinned. "Looks to me like--"

"A list of locations," Horatio finished. "These must be where his 'divisions' are."

"I'd bet his lawyer had something to do with this," said Nigel with a frown. "Must be going for a plea bargain in exchange for this information."

Horatio snorted derisively. "Lost cause. Even this isn't going to keep him off the chair. Any juror with half a heart wouldn't sentence him to anything other than death," he said as he took the paper and scanned it. "Well, he's certainly doing well for himself."

"I know. One in Miami, one in New York City, one in Quebec, one in Paris, London, Vienna…"

"International child prostitution: when capitalism goes too far," Horatio said. "The feds are going to want to hear about this. We'll give them a ring tomorrow; they're going to have to take care of everything in Europe. But as for the Miami division…"

"We'll be on it like white on rice, probably first thing in the morning," Nigel guessed.

"You know me too well."

-- -- -- -- --

Jordan Cavanaugh and Calleigh Duquesne were waiting just outside the crime lab around 8:30 the next morning as Nigel and Horatio pulled up to it. They'd already called to let them know that they'd be spending the better portion of the day on the outskirts of Miami, which was about a forty-five minute drive. Nigel rolled the passenger-side window down and put one arm over it.

"Morning, Jordan. Coming along for the ride, are you?" he called.

They both looked up and smirked. "You know it. I love breaking up a prostitution ring!" Jordan said as she and Calleigh headed down the steps toward the Hummer.

"Have a good night's rest, ladies?" Horatio asked as Calleigh pulled the back door open and climbed in.

"Oh, yeah," Calleigh said. "Popcorn, chick flicks, _Cosmo_ magazine…"

"M_hm_," said Nigel, a poorly concealed grin on his face. Jordan glared daggers at him, which only made him laugh. "That sounds like something a ballistics expert and a medical examiner would do in their free time."

"Where's Eric? He's supposed to be coming with us, too," Horatio said, scanning the front doors through his sunglasses and seeing no sign of him.

"Yeah, I know," Calleigh said. "I called him before he came in and he knows. I think he's calling the feds about Carter's statement."

"Good; saves us the trouble," Nigel said right as Eric came through the door and jogged down the path towards them. It wasn't long before he was climbing into the back seat next to Jordan.

"Just got off the phone with the FBI," he said as he slammed the door. "They say they're going to get-- who in hell are you?"

Jordan blinked. "Oh -- Jordan Cavanaugh. Friend of Nigel's. Pleasure to meet you," she said, offering a hand.

Eric took it, looking slightly nonplussed. "Okay."

"Don't worry, she's with me," Calleigh said.

"She certainly is," Nigel murmured under his breath.

"Besides, if we find any bodies," Calleigh said, sounding suddenly dark, "it'll be good to have her."

"Okay, everyone's present and accounted for; let's go," Horatio said as he accelerated out of the parking lot and onto the busy morning traffic.

-- -- -- -- --

"Fourth and Birch?"

"Fourth and Birch," Nigel affirmed. "Our destination is somewhere down that alley."

Horatio peered around him and looked down it. There wasn't much to see, save mismatched brick walls on either side, an overturned rubbish bin, a mouldy dumpster and a clothesline strung between two windows a few dozen feet up.

"Well, it ain't the Sistine Chapel," Eric said as he pushed the door open.

"Nor is it Castle Versailles," agreed Horatio while he turned the Hummer off, "but then again, it's rarely about decorum, is it, just functionality. Everyone armed?"

"Like you even need to ask," Calleigh sang as she climbed out of the car.

"Okay. Ms. Cavanaugh, I think it's best if you lag behind a bit. I'm going on the assumption that you don't usually need a gun," Horatio said.

"Yeah," she relented.

"Let's hope this doesn't turn into another Wild West," Eric said, slamming the door behind him.

"Backup standing by?" Horatio asked, pulling his gun from his hip.

"I can see them from here," said Calleigh.

"Good. Let's move out."

Horatio was the first to move into the mouth of the alleyway, his gun down but ready to be fired. Nigel was to his left and Eric to his right, with Calleigh and Jordan taking up the rear. He stopped as the alley branched into four directions and peered carefully around the corner. Seeing no one but several doors to choose from, he looked back at Nigel.

"Anything?"

"According to Average Joe," Nigel said, "we're looking for an open door with a grubby entrance."

He looked back at the surroundings. Truth be told, _all_ of them looked grubby, but one perhaps a bit more so than the rest. Moreover, that particular door was open. That or it was broken, but either way, Horatio could see through the entrance into a room that was probably white at one point, but was no so caked with dirt and dust that it was about as appealing as a dumpster full of month-old cheese.

"I think that's it," Horatio said. "Ready? Eric, cover me -- go wide."

Eric nodded and hurried around in an arch towards the far side of the door, his gun pointed down, as Horatio took the other side. Nigel came down the middle, crouching low but making a b-line for the entrance. When they made it to the door, they all stopped. Calleigh came last, pressed against the wall next to Eric.

"On my mark," Horatio said quietly. "Three… two…"

Before he could even finish the word "one," Eric burst through the door. "_Miami Dade Police!_ Put your hands where I can see them!"

-- -- -- -- --

"On my mark," Nigel heard Horatio say quietly. Nigel nodded. "Three… two…"

But before he could even finish the countdown, Eric sprang forward, his gun out. "_Miami Dade Police!_ Put your hands where I can see them!"

Not missing a beat, Horatio followed in behind him. Calleigh came afterwards and Nigel was last inside, giving a last glance to Jordan, who was standing near the wall on the opposite side of the alley. When he came inside, a horrible scent dominated his senses and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Horatio had a shady-looking fellow pinned against the wall with his gun against the small of his back. "How many more 'clients' are in here?" he demanded. "_How many more?_"

"I-- I don't--"

"Nigel, check the back room for kids," he said quickly. "Eric, go down that hall and interrupt the fun."

"Gladly," Eric growled as he stalked past Horatio down into the hall.

Nigel nodded and hurried to the other side of the room. Moving through the plastic beaded curtains, he found himself in a tiny room filled with trembling, frightened children ranging in age from six to sixteen and he cringed visibly.

"Jesus Christ."

"How many, Nigel?" Horatio called from the other room.

"I don't know -- twenty to thirty at best," he said, putting his gun away. "Do any of you speak English?"

They all stared at him, huddled together in a corner.

"_Français ? Personne ne parle français ?_"

One of them, a timid-looking girl with mouse-brown hair hesitantly nodded. "_Qui êtes-vous ?_" she asked with a shaking voice.

"_Je m'appelle Docteur Nigel Townsend ; je suis là pour vous libérer,_" he told them, hurrying forward to get a better look and discern if they needed medical attention. "_Vous allez tous bien ?_"

She watched him with enormous brown eyes, as if she wasn't daring to believe him. Nigel sank down onto one knee in front of her and looked her over quickly. He couldn't see any obvious physical wounds, despite the obvious emaciation and bruising around her neck, wrists and God knows where else.

However, some of them didn't look so good. With a quick glance, he could see one young boy with an obvious infection on a wound across his neck and another girl who was so pale that she looked half-dead where she lay.

"I need a medical team," he said loudly, "some of these kids look awful!"

"Consider it on its way," Horatio called from the other room.

-- -- -- -- --

He kept the man pinned to the wall and the gun against his back as Nigel hurried past him through a doorway with beaded curtains. "What's your name, punk?" he demanded, pushing the gun harder into his back.

"I -- Michael Crowe," he said desperately. Horatio noticed a British slant to his voice. "I didn't do anything!"

"Bullshit," Horatio hissed. "How many, Nigel?" he called.

"I don't know -- twenty to thirty at best."

"And there," Horatio growled, "are twenty to thirty reasons why _you_, Mr. Crowe, are being taken to jail. Calleigh," he said over his shoulder, "cover him. Make sure he doesn't move an inch."

It only took a split second for Calleigh to hurry up from behind and grab Crowe by one arm and successfully slam him down against a table. "You heard the man," Calleigh said, wonderfully dark mirth in her voice, "you move, I shoot. Don't make this more complicated than it has to be."

Horatio took off through the other door after Eric, who was halfway down a long hallway of cheap, plywood doors. He had one man against a wall and his gun trained on him as he pulled the others open.

"Eric, is he it?"

He glanced back at him, then into the room again. "So far, but I'm betting he won't be for long."

"Which room was he in?" he asked, putting his gun away.

"Fifth on the left."

Horatio turned and counted up, then headed into a room a few feet in front of him. Lying on a ratty mattress, trembling and shaken, was a girl who couldn't be a day over ten. She was pressed into the corner of the six-by-six room and she shrieked when he entered.

"Hi," he said gently. "Hi, don't worry, it's going to be okay." He shrugged off his jacket and headed to her gently. "I'm here to help you. Do you understand?"

Suddenly, Horatio heard Nigel's voice through the flimsy walls: "I need a medical team, some of these kids look awful!"

"Consider it on its way," he said loud enough to be heard before returning his attention to the girl. "Sweetheart, it's okay. It's _okay_. Calm down…"

"_¿Eres policía?_" asked the girl shakily.

"_Sí,_" Horatio replied quickly. "_Sí, soy policía. Me llamo Teniente Horatio Caine._"

"Got another one," Eric called.

"Give the guys to Calleigh and take care of the kid he's with," Horatio called back, and he heard the scuffling noises of Eric complying. "_¿Esta herida?_"

The girl shook her head; she wasn't hurt. Horatio sighed softly and put his coat around her shoulders to cover her. Once she huddled down under it, he pulled out his walkie-talkie.

"This is Lieutenant Horatio Caine; I'm in the alley on Fourth and Birch. We've just broken up a child prostitution ring and we need back up. Send as many medical teams as you're able. Repeat: the alley on Fourth and Birch, look for the white, open door."

He looked back at the girl, who was staring across at the wall and trembling. Horatio smiled kindly and put a hand on her head. "_¿Come se llama?_" he asked.

"Isabella," she whispered.

"Isabella?" he repeated. "_Eso es un nombre hermoso. ¿Cuantos años tienes?_"

"_Siete_," she said.

Horatio cringed. She was only seven years old, and she was here? The idea made him absolutely sick, but his first priority was to keep this girl and the others safe.

"_Le mandamos ayuda, ok?_" he said, rubbing her back. "_Todo va a salir bien._"

She sniffed and nodded, rubbing at her face with one hand. For now, all Horatio could do was console her until the help that he promised would come arrived.


	16. Tangled in Your Lies

All three men found in the division had been taken away in cuffs. The whole scene was strung with a tense silence as a total of twenty-six children were attended to by nine different EMTs. Horatio was leaning against the doorframe and watching as Nigel and Jordan attended to three kids, all of which were sitting on the edge of an ambulance. With his arms crossed over his chest, he waited patiently as people moved past him, carrying bags of evidence, children and pieces of furniture. It was the quiet after the storm.

From behind him, Eric came forward with a clipboard against his hip. "Doing okay, H?"

"Yeah," he said before he looked back at him. "You?"

"Completely appalled, irreversibly revolted, shaken, stirred, but still standing," he replied with a sigh. "I can't believe this. What sort of twisted mind would think up an operation like this?"

"When we go back to the crime lab, you can ask him," Horatio said. "Is everything cleared?"

"Almost. Speed is still clearing up bits and pieces of it." Eric raised a hand against the glaring Miami sun to look out across the crowded alley. "So what, is Townsend a medical doctor, too?"

Horatio smiled faintly. "No, but his friend, Cavanaugh, is. And I think Nigel really wants to be involved with this one."

"Word on the street is that you've officially hired him."

"Mhm," Horatio replied with a nod. "His name was added to the payroll yesterday evening."Hor

Eric frowned thoughtfully. "I guess you really like him."

Horatio paused for a few long moments and then looked up at him. "I love him," he said.

"Yeah, you and half the staff, apparently," Eric said. "I was talking to--"

"No, Eric," he cut him off. Eric looked up at him inquiringly. "I _love_ him," repeated Horatio slowly, meeting his eyes so that his meaning couldn't be misinterpreted.

Eric stared at him silently for a moment, then looked away and laughed hoarsely. "Are -- are you joking?"

"Afraid not," Horatio replied, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket and sliding them on. When he crossed his arms again, he began to drum his fingers against the fabric of his jacket.

"You--" Eric seemed wholly shocked and mildly disturbed. "You and -- and _him?_"

"Yes, Eric, me and him," he said.

"I… H, you can't be serious, you're -- what… what about Marisol?"

Horatio's fingers stilled and a sort of cold jolt appeared in his gut. "What _about_ Marisol?" he asked carefully.

"You can just -- just forget her?" he asked, suddenly sounding defensive. He straightened up and turned toward him. "You loved her!"

"Yes," Horatio agreed, "I did love her. But Eric, she's been dead for three years." He looked up at him with a silent resolve. "I've mourned for two-and-a-half. I need to move on."

"Move on with some -- some random British criminologist from Boston?" he demanded angrily.

A flash of anger dashed across his vision, but he kept his icy cool demeanour.

"Eric, you know what I think this is about? I think this isn't about Nigel at all -- I think this is about you and how you've yet to finish mourning over your sister's death," he said evenly. Eric frowned deeply and looked to the side, and Horatio knew that he'd struck something.

"Yeah, well," he snapped, "for the record, I _don't_ approve."

"I didn't ask for your approval," Horatio said softly.

-- -- -- -- --

Before the Hummer had even shut off, they were filing out into the parking lot. "Okay, kids," Horatio said as he pushed his sunglasses onto his head, "we've done our feel-good job for the day, now let's get back to the Lovett case. Calleigh," he said, "I want you to go back to the scene and find that bullet. Do a few test fires in the lab to get an idea of where it might have landed if needed be."

"Can I bring my new friend?"

"Sure, why not? Eric," he continued, "call a judge, get us another warrant for Mrs. Lovett's house."

"Fine," Eric said flatly.

"Nigel, you and I are going to call the good doctor's wife in and have ourselves a little chit-chat."

"I'll call her, then," Nigel said with a nod. "Shall we tell her to bring her overly-friendly financial adviser with her?"

"Do that, and let me know when they get here," Horatio said.

"Where are you going, then?" asked Calleigh just as they entered the cool of the entrance hall.

"I'm going to find Carter first and bring him the good news."

"Well, I'll be damned," Nigel said suddenly, "apparently the criminals now come to you."

Carter was being led down the hallway, his hands cuffed behind his back and a police officer holding him firmly by the arm. He had the ever-present sadistic smirk on his face despite how he was stumbling slightly in his path.

"I guess you're just coming back from the address I gave you," Carter said.

Eric, Calleigh and Jordan kept walking, but Horatio and Nigel slowed to a stop. Horatio motioned to the officer escorting him to slow down so they could talk.

"Yes, we did," Horatio affirmed, "and I have to say, that's some pretty screwed up stuff."

"Each to his own," Carter said with a smirk that bared his yellow, crooked teeth.

"Normally, I would agree, but you know what, Carter?" Horatio said as he rested his hands on his waist. "Once you start tampering with human life… that's when you go too far."

Carter just scoffed and rolled his eyes defiantly. "Like I give a damn what you think. I'm not going to be the end of this, and you know that. I'm only--"

Suddenly, Nigel jerked forward and clocked him clean on the temple. With a surprised cry, Carter was sent toppling onto the floor. Horatio just smiled and watched as the officer stumbled and scrambled to help him back up. He glanced amusedly at Nigel, who was shaking his hand.

"That was satisfying," Nigel said.

Horatio laughed. The officer looked up at Nigel with an aggravated look as he helped Carter back onto his feet. He had a mark near his eye and a scowl across his face.

"Hey, now, Officer," Horatio interjected, "that… that was entirely self-defence. He just had a delayed reaction time of, oh…" Horatio glanced at his watch. "Twenty years?"

"You bitch," Carter spat at him, attempting to lunge at him. "I liked you better as a kid!"

"That much is evident," Nigel said tightly. "By the way, all things considered, _you're_ going to be the bitch, where you'll end up."

"Take him away," Horatio ordered mildly. The officer jerked Carter's arm and pulled him out the front door, which swung shut behind them. Horatio glanced back at Nigel and smiled at him. "Feel better?"

"Much better, thank you," said Nigel with a smile. "Shall we go call Mrs. Lovett?"

"After you."

-- -- -- -- --

"According to the license plate we found on the car of our victim's house, your name is Edward Mason, is that true?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly. "Would you mind explaining what this is about?"

"All in good time, Mr. Mason; all in good time," Horatio said vaguely. "Now, you and Mrs. Lovett clearly have a sexual relationship. Care to elabourate on that?"

He frowned. "We've been sleeping together for years. Her husband never had much interest in her. His tastes lingered in those of the younger variety, if you follow me."

"Then why did they get married in the first place?" asked Nigel as he tapped his pencil against the table.

"He was high-profile," Edward said. "Press all over him regularly. It wouldn't look good if he didn't have a wife, so he pulled Eleanor out of nowhere and proposed five days after they met, and what a romantic occasion it was: he practically pulled a ring from a Cracker Jack box."

"And where did you meet?" asked Horatio.

"Business associations."

"Could you be more specific?"

"Believe it or not, beneath all the child prostitution, they actually oversee some trade," Edward drawled, leaning back in his chair. "It's mostly just to keep suspicion down. I run one of the companies they decided to connect with -- it was over some glass goods. He invited me to a dinner, and Eleanor was looking ravishing in a long black gown. We talked afterwards, one thing led to another…"

"Okay. Did Mr. Lovett know?" Horatio asked.

"Probably," laughed Edward. "If he did, he certainly didn't care. They were both guilty of cheating."

"And you didn't report the prostitution to the authorities because…?" Nigel drifted off, allowing him to finish the sentence.

"Not my place. Besides, if it meant losing Eleanor…"

Nigel glanced at Horatio, and Horatio glanced back. He could tell that Horatio was thinking the exact same thing: this relationship wasn't just sexual; they were in love. That was certainly interesting, and it spelled out motive very clearly.

"Mr. Mason, you're a smart man, so I'm going to level with you," Horatio said as he sat down across from him and folded his hands on the tabletop. "You are a primary suspect in Mr. Lovett's murder."

"I didn't kill him."

"Persuade us," Nigel said evenly.

Edward watched them through keen grey eyes for a few long moments. He crossed his arms over his chest and the wheels in his mind were turning visibly. They waited in silence before the response finally came:

"I think I'd like to call my lawyer now," Edward said firmly.

"I think that would be a very good idea," retaliated Horatio. "Nigel -- outside." He slid his cell phone across the table towards Edward before standing and heading out of the room. Nigel followed and closed the door behind him.

"There's one thing missing," Horatio said instantly.

"What did they stand to gain by killing Mr. Lovett?" Nigel asked rhetorically. "A question for the ages."

"Indeed. We're going to have to look into that," he said. "But for now…"

"We move on to the adulteress. I'll go get her."

-- -- -- -- --

"Sources say that you had quite the loveless marriage, Eleanor," Horatio noted.

She lowered her eyes and turned her head away. With her dark, curly hair falling nearly to his shoulders, she looked very much like the woman on the covers of the cheap romance novels available in the local grocery stores. "I, ah… he saw me as the best candidate," she said finally. "I knew that it wouldn't be about love."

"So what motivated you to marry him in the first place?"

"I admit," she said, "that it seemed like a good idea at the time. He was rich, powerful, well-known… and I'd never really seen the need for love."

"How would you describe your marriage?" asked Nigel, sounding genuinely interested. "Was it actively the idea of your personal hell?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly. "No, not at all. I never _hated_ it; certainly not. It was tolerable, I didn't mind." She looked at them earnestly. "Please, officers, you have to believe me. I didn't want my husband dead."

Horatio frowned. Absurdly, he believed her. She seemed too sincere, too honest, too fundamentally innocent to be someone that would want to kill her husband. He'd been in the business for twenty years, and his radar for criminals was finely-tuned. It was getting nothing off Mrs. Lovett.

"I assume, then, that you knew about his child prostitution ring," Horatio said. She faltered and bit her lower lip.

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "Yes, I knew about it. Most of the time, I tried to ignore it."

"Why didn't you say anything to the authorities?" Nigel asked.

She sighed. "I just… sacrificed what was right for what is easy. Trust me, I wish I could have said something, but there were so many factors involved. I didn't know about it when I met him, and when I discovered what the real trade was, it was too late."

"Tell us about Mr. Mason," Horatio said. "What's your relationship with him like?"

The ghost of a smile graced her visage. "Edward is… amazing. He's wonderful. We met at a dinner that Francis hosted a few years ago."

"You love him?" prompted Nigel.

She laughed and an almost imperceptible blush appeared on her face. "Well, maybe," she said sheepishly. "I don't know. I think so."

"You mentioned," Horatio said, "that he was your financial advisor. Is he?"

"Well, yes, in a manner of speaking," she said thoughtfully. "He works as a financial advisor for a glassware company, but we hired him as a personal advisor for our own funds."

"So he has access to your bank accounts," Horatio pointed out, his eyebrows raised.

Eleanor visibly faltered. "I… yes, but -- oh, no, Lieutenant, what you're thinking is -- there's no way he would do that. I know him; he _loves_ me. He would never…"

"We'll keep it in mind," Nigel said quietly.

"Well, you're free to go for now," Horatio said as he thumbed through a file. "But you can expect us soon, so don't go far, Eleanor."

She nodded and stood up. "Thank you," she said before she left the examination room.

"And the plot thickens," Nigel said, steepling his fingers on the table.

"Indeed, it does," Horatio agreed. "A wife in a loveless marriage takes a lover who later becomes an advisor, and who has access to their money."

"And I believe _that's_ spelled M-O-T-I-V-E."

"Get the owners out of the way, and then have at their money once they're both gone," Horatio said. "Add in the fact that no one would really mind if scum like that died, and you've got yourself a pretty solid reason to kill him, don't you?"

"I'll check into their bank accounts," Nigel said with a smirk.

"And I'll go find Eric to see how that warrant's coming."


	17. Riddle in Your Enigma

It was a little after ten-thirty and Miami had settled down, however slightly, into a cool night. Horatio and Nigel were sitting in front of the television, but neither was really paying attention to the History Channel special on the Gulf War. Nigel had his legs over Horatio's lap and a laptop resting on his thighs, at which he was typing away, and Horatio was just enjoying the closeness.

"Isn't it amazing," Nigel said, "how a phone call from a lieutenant can turn an irascible bank manager into a docile little yes-man?"

"It always seems to bring out the best in people," Horatio agreed, vaguely tracing patters on his knee. "Did you get into her account?"

"Yes, courtesy of Mr. What's-His-Face. He gave us online access; isn't that sweet?"

Horatio laughed. "Anything suspicious?"

"Besides the gobs and gobs of liquid cash accumulating in her primary checking account, not really," he said offhandedly as he scrolled down the page. "Most of them are deposits from her husband, it looks like. I'd bet it's some sort of 'keep-your-mouth-shut' money. Apart from that, there are a few deposits from something going under the acronym FTS."

"FTS?" Horatio repeated, glancing away from the TV. "What's that?"

"No idea," he murmured. "I can't access any information on the subject. I'd do a Google search if I weren't sure that 'FTS' stood for about six million different things."

"Hmm, that's a setback, isn't it?" he asked vaguely. "We'll worry about it later, then."

"We will," Nigel agreed, closing the laptop and stretching his arms over his head, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. "Tired?"

"Not really, no," Horatio said, resting a hand on Nigel's thigh. "But you know how that is. You get so caught up in work that you can't stop thinking about it, even off-duty…"

"Guilty," laughed Nigel as he moved the closed laptop from his lap to the coffee table. He shifted his legs off from across Horatio and moved onto his knees as he said, "Really, though, distraction isn't so hard a feat if you know what you're doing." He straddled Horatio's lap with a smirk.

"Mhm, it's working already," Horatio said, resting his hands on Nigel's thighs. "You have a gift."

"I just do what I can," said Nigel as he leaned down and dropped a kiss against his mouth. Smiling, Horatio let his fingertips trail down towards his calves as he lightly kissed across Nigel's lower lip. He grinned right back against his mouth and settled lower on his lap. Horatio let one hand slide around his waist to pull him against his chest, and his lips moved down across his jaw and neck.

"By the way," Horatio said into his collarbone, "Eric now knows about us."

Nigel raised his eyebrows. "Really? And what was dear Mr. Delko's reaction?"

"Oh, he wasn't happy about it, but that was to be expected," Horatio murmured as he used his grip on Nigel's waist to sweep him down against the couch. "All things considered, I think he took it well."

Nigel laughed and arched up against the hands that were moving up his sides. "But don't try to tell me it really makes _that_ much of a difference."

"It makes a difference," Horatio said, his eyes moving away from Nigel's body and to his eyes. "But only insofar as it would make things easier. However," he continued, "wild horses couldn't pull me away from you, let alone Eric's opinion."

Nigel watched him silently for a while, then smiled and reached up, twining his arms around his neck. He leaned up and nuzzled his nose into the side of Horatio's cheek, saying, "It's a real wonder you were single, you know that? Makes me wonder what great act of Karma I pulled off."

Horatio laughed. "And once again, we're back to Buddhism. This seems to be a reoccurring theme."

"At least it's not on the side of a condom box," Nigel said with a smirk as Horatio tangled his fingers in his hair.

"Mmm. Speaking of condoms…"

"You, sir, have read my mind."

Logically, Horatio knew that he should be paranoid. After all, he seemed to have a sort of curse when it came to falling in love -- they all seemed to die. Every time it happened, he approached it with more and more caution, and yet with Nigel, it wasn't his primary concern. Maybe it was because he was competent. Unlike Marisol, Nigel could outsmart, outrun, and probably outshoot his way to safety if it was needed.

And Horatio _wasn't_ paranoid. In fact, he couldn't possibly be more confident that Nigel, unlike the others he'd fallen in love with, would be safe, without Horatio watching over him like a hawk. It brought him a sort of warm comfort to know that this relationship could last.

Granted, that wasn't what he was thinking about half an hour later when he had Nigel pinned against the headboard of the bed. He wasn't thinking about much of anything other than the feeling of being buried inside Nigel to the hilt, and judging by the way Nigel's hands were clawing at his back, neither was he. Pumping slowly into him with a controlled rhythm, Horatio kissed heatedly against his mouth and jaw as he raked his fingers through his hair.

And then his cell phone rang.

Nigel could barely hear it through the sound of his own blood pounding in his ear, and Horatio cringed visibly, faltering in his movements.

"Shit," Nigel said. "Once again, proof that God hates us…"

"Just ignore it," Horatio told him, followed by a hard kiss on his mouth. "For all they know, I'm asleep and so are you." He didn't give Nigel much more time to think, because a moment later, he started his movements again, pushing back up into him with one swift movement, which very quickly drew Nigel's attention.

"W-watch it be some… something incredibly im-important -- _ohmyGodHoratioharder…_"

Sufficiently convinced, Horatio shifted his hips up with a sharp jerk, making Nigel's fingernails drag at the skin of his arms as the phone rang once… twice… three times…

"You've reached Horatio Caine. I'm not available. Wait for the tone, you know what to do." _Beep._

"Horatio?"

It was the answering machine built into the cell phone's charger cradle, and the voice sounded like Speed's. Trying to follow through on ignoring it, they both closed their eyes and kept the rhythm.

Speed sighed. "Horatio… I hope you're not asleep. This is important."

When Speed said something was important, it was important, and judging by the tone of his voice, it was slightly past that level. Horatio faltered slightly.

"Hey, I thought you said to ignore it," Nigel panted.

"Okay -- I don't know where you are, but…" Speed sighed again. "Horatio, the crime lab is on fire. It's a structure fire; very bad."

They both stopped dead and their heads snapped in the direction of the charger.

"Nearly everyone's been evacuated, but the firemen are still putting it out. When you get this message…" He fell short for a few moments. "Look, just give me a call. Come over if you can. Okay. Bye."

They looked back at each other.

"Damn it," Nigel breathed, scrambling upright. "I had to jinx it, didn't I?"

"Worry about it later," Horatio said as he pulled out of him and reached for his shirt. "We're leaving."

"Yeah, we are," Nigel replied as though it were obvious.

-- -- -- -- --

The blaze was visible three blocks away; an immense orb of yellow-orange light stained the night sky, and a huge plume of smoke was billowing upwards and vanishing into the dark. When Horatio turned the Hummer into the parking lot, he slammed on his breaks to avoid hitting a woman being taken to an ambulance. Horatio swore and veered sharply to the left, taking a gap in the mass of people a few hundred feet closer to the roaring inferno. The minute the Hummer turned off, they both leapt out and onto the pavement.

"Calleigh!" Horatio called as he jogged towards the blonde, who was huddled under a fire blanket. She turned towards him when she heard him and breathed out shakily, rising from her sitting position on the hood of her car. "Calleigh, are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I'm okay. Slightly crispy, but fine." She hugged Horatio around the neck and Nigel put a comforting hand on her back.

"Where's Jordan?" he asked anxiously.

"She's fine, she's with speed," Calleigh replied, nodding her head to the left. "She's not hurt." But nevertheless, Nigel took off across the parking lot as Horatio looked swiftly around him.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I'm going to go hail a helicopter to help Fire and Rescue." With that, he dashed off to go find someone to take a bird into the sky. With any luck, he could use his status to get one as soon as possible and put the fire out before it got any worse.

-- -- -- -- --

"Where's Jordan?" he asked as he searched the parking lot for her familiar silhouette.

"She's fine," Calleigh insisted, "she's with Speed. She's not hurt." But he needed to see for himself. He nodded briefly before he followed the direction of her nod, looking from car to car to ambulance to ambulance.

"Jordan? _Jordan!!_"

Sure enough, she was a few dozen feet away, talking to Speed. She had a black smear on her cheek and her hair was slightly frazzled, but apart from that she seemed unharmed. Upon hearing him, she turned and nearly collapsed of relief. "Nigel, _there_ you are." She immediately pulled him into a hug.

"Thank God you're still standing," Nigel said with a squeeze. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yeah," she replied as she pulled away. "Yeah, I'm fine. And I don't _know_ what happened. I was down at the firing range with Calleigh -- we were doing some test firing on the Lovett case, or, well, she was; I was just watching -- we heard a scream, and the next thing you know…" She turned and looked at the building, the orange lighting up her profile. "Disco inferno."

"Did you pull the alarm?" Nigel asked.

"I tried," she said, "but it didn't work! I grabbed it the minute we were out the door, but nothing happened."

"It didn't work for me, either," Speed interjected suddenly. "And now that I think about it, I don't remember hearing an alarm at all."

Nigel turned to the blaze and frowned. "A major structure fire," he said slowly, "and an alarm system that just _happens_ to be faulty?"

Jordan watched him searchingly for a few moments. "You… don't think this was accidental."

"I hate to say it, but I think Nigel's right," Speed said darkly. "This seems a bit _too_ coincidental. This place is a governmental building; it goes through safety checks every three months. Fireproofing damn near everything is only the tip of the iceberg." He rested his hands on his hips and looked up at the flames. "It wouldn't be easy to light this place up and walk away saying 'oopsy-daisy.' This isn't chance."

"This is arson," Nigel said.

"But why?" asked Jordan. "What's the motive?"

"Well, a building full of incriminating evidence that could send hundreds of people to jail?" Speed said, drifting off. "It's not hard to imagine that someone wants it gone."

"But to set a federal building on fire?" Jordan said. "That's risky."

"So it's been executed by a pro," mused Nigel, leaning against a nearby car window. "Do you know where the fire originated?"

"I, uhm… I heard a rather loud roar from above me," Speed thought out loud. "I was in the DNA lab, so that would mean it probably started in Mass Spec, one floor up."

"Mass Spec," Nigel repeated. "Full of fire and flammable things. A fire, there? No, surely not."

"Full of flammable things, perhaps," Speed said, "but also full of fire extinguishers and highly trained forensic experts who know their way around a Bunsen burner. It doesn't add up."

"But it still could have been used as a trigger," Jordan pointed out. "If this has been executed by an arsonist with a record, he might know that one spark is all it takes for a place that's already been set up to turn into a raging inferno."

Nigel frowned. A moment later, he heard the deep whirling of helicopter blades. He looked up and shielded the glare of the fire to get a better look. Flashing off the long white body of a chopper were bright glints of orange and yellow. "Is that Delko up there?" he asked.

Speed looked up as well. "No," he said, "that's not him. It's not his chopper; wrong serial number."

"So where is the little bugger?" Nigel asked, watching as a long stream of white gushed down from the bottom of the helicopter and onto the flames.

When Nigel didn't get a response, he looked away and turned to Speed, raising an eyebrow. "Speed?"

"He… he was in Mass Spec," Speed said, pale as snow. "He was working on the residue found on the gun -- oh, my God. I don't remember seeing him come out."

Nigel froze, then jerked his head around to the door. "So, he's -- what, he's in there? _Still?_"

"Damnit," Jordan swore, putting a loosely clenched fist over her mouth. "Oh, God, he was right where the fire started. Statistically speaking--"

"Statistics can go to hell," Nigel snapped, shrugging off his jacket. "Both of you stay here."

"_What?_ Nigel, you can't be serious!" Speed said.

"What better time for pleasantries than in the face of a fire," he said, throwing the jacket at Speed. "Both of you stay here!"

"Nigel--!"

But Nigel was already ducking under the "DO NOT CROSS" tape and dashing toward the building.


	18. Change in Your Heart

Horatio watched as the choppers streaked across the sky, slowing to a halt as they came directly over the top of the crime lab. A sheet of white rained down from it -- liquid nitrogen, with a temperature of almost negative three-hundred-and-fifty degrees below zero, and about five times more effective against fire than normal water. He watched from a distance with his hands on his hips, not noticing Speed and Dr. Cavanaugh dashing toward him until they got within earshot.

"Horatio!"

He looked back down to see Speed hurrying up towards him.

"Speed -- Dr. Cavanaugh. What's going on?" he asked.

"Oh, just that _your lover is suicidal_."

The slightest tremor of fear flashed across his stomach. "What? Where's Nigel -- what's going on?"

"So he _is_ your lover!" Cavanaugh said with a triumphant smirk.

"Later," he said shortly. "Speed, answer me. Where is he?"

"He just ran _back_ into the lab," he said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. "You know, the one that's currently burning?"

"Wh… why?"

"He was going after someone," Cavanaugh told him. "Someone named Dirko, was it?"

"Delko," Speed corrected. "He ran back in for Eric, who has yet to come out. We think he might be trapped in there still."

His hand twitched at his side and he looked up at the building. His first instinct was to run through that door and drag him out by the hair if necessary, but then again…

"It's okay," Horatio forced himself to say. "He… he can take care of himself."

Speed stared at him like he'd grown another head. "Are you insane? He could die!"

"I know. Trust me, I know," Horatio whispered. "But Nigel's competent. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

_I hope._

"I think insanity is catching," Speed mumbled, turning back towards the building. "First and foremost, H, I hope _you_ know what you're doing."

"So do I," Horatio said softly.

-- -- -- -- --

Nigel pulled his sleeve down over his hand and pushed the door open, promptly ducking inside, though he regretted it when the stifling scent of smoke overpowered him. Choking on his own breath, Nigel pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and pressed it over his mouth and nose though it wasn't nearly enough. He squinted against the stinging haze -- though there was no fire in the walls of the entrance hall, generous plumes of smoke were rippling out from every door. With a deep breath of poorly filtered hair, Nigel ran down across the hall.

When he reached the other end, he pushed open the heavy door to the emergency stairwell. Sprinting upwards, skipping every other step, Nigel reached the third floor nearly out of breath even with the handkerchief at his side. Still, he hurried through the entrance to the level and very quickly put it back over his nose.

It was hot as hell and filled with a stifling smoke. Nigel had to shut his eyes against the harsh orange glare before he forced himself forward into Mass Spec, nearly blind as he searched for Delko.

"_Eric!_" he called through his hand despite the fact that he almost couldn't hear himself for the roar of the flames around him. "_Delko, you bastard, answer me!_"

When, for several agonisingly long seconds, he heard nothing, Nigel's stomach plummeted down into his pelvis. Maybe he just couldn't hear him -- but Mass Spec didn't take up a large portion of the level, and fire could travel pretty fast. The chilling thought that he might be too late chilled him to his core, until when he suddenly heard--

"Nigel?"

He froze, trying to determine the origin of the sound.

"Nigel, are you there?"

It was definitely Delko, and judging by the strain in his voice, he was definitely hurt. Nigel whirled around towards the direction of the noise and saw, to his horror, Eric in the chemistry lab, the lower half of his body trapped underneath a beam that seemed to have fallen from the ceiling.

Nigel almost tripped over himself as he scrambled towards and collapsed near him. "Oh, my God," he said, "are you okay?"

"No," Eric said through gritted teeth. "The beam landed on my legs -- I'm pretty sure the left one is broken." Not to mention that his head was bleeding and his shoulders was skewed into a position that he was sure it shouldn't have.

"Shit." Nigel turned his attention to the beam. It must have weighed at least 300 pounds and was probably made of titanium. Moreover, there was a good chance that, considering how close it had been to a fire, was probably too hot to touch. Mind whirling, Nigel turned to look across the room.

"Look, Nigel, there's no way you can get this off me," Eric gasped. "Tell Horatio that I--"

"Oh, shut _up_, Delko, you're not going to die!" Nigel snapped. "Just let me think… for a…"

Nigel was staring out the door, where, through a hole in the ceiling, liquid nitrogen from the chopper was dropping down onto the fire. And he could almost feel the light bulb over his head turn on.

"Uh… Nigel?"

"Nitrogen," he said suddenly."

"What?"

"Nitrogen! Liquid nitrogen!" Once again, Nigel almost tripped over his own feet as he dashed across the lab, pulling open the freezer against the wall.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Eric, sounding simultaneously nervous and stressed.

"Don't you trust me?" asked Nigel as he grabbed a large container from the bottom of the freezer.

"No, not really!"

"Well, you can either trust me or die in a fire, Delko!" he said, pulling the container open. "So what's it going to be?"

Eric was silent. Nigel didn't hesitate -- heaving the container up, he threw the contents on the top of the beam, where the liquid hissed and steamed. Nigel ignored Eric's startled cry, choosing instead to toss the container to one side and grab one of the many fire extinguishers from the counter and smashing it down on the top of the bar.

Underneath the weight of the blow, the beam spiderwebbed. With a second blow, it crunched and caved beneath it. And with one final strike, the middle section of the beam shattered around Eric, crumbling and piling on either side of him on the floor.

Nigel tossed the extinguisher to the side and crouched down to Eric's level. "Come on, up you get!"

Delko seemed to be shocked silent, staring at Nigel in utter bewilderment. So Nigel grabbed him by his good shoulder, instead, and helped heave him to his feet. "Easy does it, Delko; no rush or anything, but we _are_ in a burning building."

It took Eric a few assisted steps for him to get the hang of it, but soon they were stumbling down towards the stairwell at a respectable rate. Once they had reached the stairwell, Nigel handed Eric the handkerchief before helping him slowly down two stories. When they reached the foyer again, he could hear the support beams above him crunching and beginning to give way.

"Damn it," Eric said through his hand.

"Just -- keep -- walking," he gasped, coughing against the smoke but hell-bent on getting them out. Suddenly, there was an enormous groan and what sounded like a stick snapping, but amplified five hundred times. "On second thought, _run!_" Nigel said, dashing forward.

They could see the door in front of them and hear the ceiling collapsing above them. Nigel ended up almost dragging Eric, whose leg was quite obviously in very bad shape.

From behind them, they heard an enormous crash.

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio kept telling himself that Nigel was going to be fine. He was intelligent, quick on his feet and fully able to take care of himself.

But he couldn't help but stare at the front door, praying to whatever deity he could think of that Nigel would come through that door with Eric, both unharmed.

It didn't happen for almost fifteen minutes.

By then he was pacing, regularly pushing his hand through his hair and checking his watch and the door every ten seconds. He couldn't help it -- he was anxious. One of his best CSIs and the man he loved were somewhere in a burning building, and had been so for almost half an hour.

Suddenly he heard the chief of fire and rescue: "Everyone back! The front is going to collapse!"

He could have sworn that his heart stopped in his chest. For the first time since as long as he could remember, Horatio was not just scared -- he was _terrified_. They were still in there. They were either right underneath the collapse or would be trapped inside because of it.

His hand tightened around the cell phone on his hip, staring at the door, hoping beyond hope that--

The door opened.

Nigel and Eric were stumbling out.

"_Nigel! Eric!_"

He sprinted forward, ducking under the "DO NOT CROSS" tape and running right up to them and meeting them halfway, hurrying them back towards the parking lot as the foyer collapsed in an immense billow of smoke, ash and dust behind them.

The minute they were on the other side of the tape, Horatio turned to them. Nigel's face was smeared with soot and he was coughing, but he looked unharmed. Eric's leg was broken -- Horatio could tell just by looking at it, and they both needed medical attention. But first, Horatio had something of a score to settle.

He grabbed Nigel by the front of his shirt and kissed him as hard as he could manage, catching Nigel off-guard. He didn't let it last long, however, because a moment later, he pulled back with, "_Never scare me like that again._"

"You would have done the exact same thing!" Nigel said defensively, still catching his breath.

Horatio knew he was right, but that was the last thing on his mind. He turned to Eric. "Are you okay?"

Eric looked away. "Leg's broken, minor head injury--"

"Shoulder's dislocated," Nigel finished. "_Medic!_"

"What did you do back there?" Eric asked as Nigel helped him sit down on the bumper of a car. "I was trapped under a beam," he explained to Horatio, "and I have no idea what…"

"It was liquid nitrogen," Nigel explained as he caught his breath. "Liquid nitrogen destabilises metal, making it easy to break without much force."

Eric stared at him silently for a moment as Nigel waved one of the EMTs over. "That's simultaneously brilliant and worrying," Eric said.

"Thank you," said Nigel. "Now let the good technician do his job."

"You, too," Horatio said sharply, but Nigel shook his head.

"No, no, I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm just out-of-breath is all."

"I don't think so," said a voice from behind. Horatio turned and saw Alexx standing a few feet away, a light jacket pulled over her regular scrubs. "Just because you feel fine doesn't mean you _are_ fine, honey," she said as she leaned over to hug Nigel around a neck. "You probably breathed in ash; you need to get checked up."

Nigel sighed but hugged her back, anyway. "I'm telling you, I'm fine."

"On the off-chance you aren't," Horatio said, "I don't want to take a chance, okay?"

"Is everyone all right?" asked Alexx, looking over at Horatio. "I came as soon as I heard."

"For the most part, yes. Eric has a broken leg, Calleigh's pretty shaken up, and one of the lab workers is hospitalised, but so far, I don't think anyone's died," he replied.

Alexx sighed. "Good. Do we know what started it?"

"We have a theory," Nigel said in a dark voice. "Horatio, I was talking with Jordan and Speed before I went inside, and guess what? The alarm system was broken."

"_Broken?_ But I checked it myself two days ago," Horatio said.

"Oh, but it gets better," Nigel continued. "It started in Mass Spec. You know, the room full of fire extinguishers."

Horatio's eyes narrowed. "That's one of the safest rooms in the building," he said. "And it is specifically because there's so much flammable material."

"Arson?" Alexx asked, her eyes widened.

"Not just arson, Alexx," Horatio said. "The only reason the arsonist would rig the alarm system is because he's not just after the building."

"He's after the people in it," Nigel murmured. "The question is who."

Horatio nodded. "And we… we are going to find out."

-- -- -- -- --

Nigel knocked on the doorframe a little after two a.m., and a few moments later he heard a soft "come in." He pushed the door open and inched inside. The room was white and sterile, and lying on the bed was Eric, his left leg held up in a sling that dangled from the ceiling.

"Hey," he greeted, closing the door behind him. "Doing well?"

"Well as I could have hoped," Eric said. Nigel smiled and headed across the room towards him, reaching into the bag over his shoulder and pulling out a bag of Cheesey-Poofs. "H sent me with good will gifts."

Eric laughed. "Cheesey-Poofs, nice," he said, taking it with his free hand. A moment later, as he set it down on his lap, he fell silent and into thought. "He, uh… he really loves you, doesn't he?"

Nigel's smile faded, but only slightly. "Yeah," he said. "At least I hope so. He tells me that you didn't have the ideal reaction."

"Look," Eric sighed, "in retrospect, my knee-jerk response probably wasn't the best. He just caught me a little off-guard is all."

He nodded. "That's understandable. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have been much better."

Eric smiled vaguely. Then he looked up and said, "Thanks, by the way. You… probably saved my life back there."

Nigel waved one hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"But still -- liquid nitrogen?"

He laughed. "Come on, give me a break; I like chemistry."

"You must," Eric smirked. "I don't think I've met anyone who sees someone trapped under a beam and immediately thinks 'liquid nitrogen.'"

"Hey, don't bitch. It worked, didn't it?" Nigel chuckled as he shifted the messenger bag back behind him. "And really, all things considered, _neither_ of us were too cordial with each other. So… what do you say?" He offered a hand. "Truce?"

Eric paused for a moment, then smiled and reached up to take the hand. "Truce. But before you go," he said as he dropped his hand, "Speed told me that he got H's answering machine. That… never happens."

Nigel smirked. "And?"

"Well, I mean… what were you doing, sleeping?"

Nigel paused thoughtfully, wondering what the best way to phrase it was. "I wouldn't… call it 'sleeping,' exactly."

Eric gave him a mildly perplexed look, and Nigel raised both eyebrows at him, arms crossed over his chest. After a few moments of silence, it finally seemed to dawn on him.

"Ah. Right," Eric said with a laugh. "Gotcha."

"Hey, you asked."


	19. Quiet in Your Storm

Horatio's internal alarm clock woke him up just after seven the next morning despite how late he'd stayed up the night before. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Nigel curled up against him, and he smiled fondly.

It seemed as though for the first time, Horatio had something he'd never had before: a normal love life. He could wake up in the morning, go to a job he adored, come home and make love to Nigel, and wake up, ready and willing to do it all over again. He always used to joke with himself that the day he had a normal life would be penultimate to Armageddon, but now it didn't seem so impossible. Of course, his life could never be _completely_ normal; his job simply wouldn't allow that. But still, the sense of consistency he was beginning to feel was more than enough to satiate him.

Nigel woke up as Horatio lazily stroked his wrist, and once his eyes swam into focus, he smiled sleepily. "Good morning," he said as he moved closer.

"Good morning," he replied into Nigel's hair. "Sleep well?"

"I have been since I started doing so with you," he said. Horatio smiled. "What time is it?"

Horatio glanced briefly at the clock. "Seven-ten."

"So we have almost an hour."

"We do."

"How do you feel like spending it?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Nigel laughed and rolled over on top of Horatio, one leg on either side of him. He leaned down with a Cheshire grin and said, "If you intend on taking a shower and if we intend on actually eating breakfast--"

"--God forbid--"

"--then we don't have time for _much_, but…"

"But when has that ever stopped us?" Horatio laughed, leaning back up and kissing him languidly, reaching up to push his hands through his hair. Nigel hummed into the kiss, shifting to press his chest down against Horatio's, and let his fingers trail across his shoulders. Their movements were slow and unrushed, and in the pre-dawn light, Horatio couldn't help but notice the sheen in Nigel's hair. As his hands moved away from his head and down his sides, he slowly shifted his weight to lie Nigel down on the bed across from him.

Nigel laughed and pulled his hands down his chest, smiling and moving to kiss his lower lip. "So," he said softly, "I thought about something."

"Mhm?" Horatio inquired.

"The day I met you," Nigel began, "I remember asking Delko about your name."

"Horatio? My parents named me after Horatio Alger," he said, dragging his own hands down towards Nigel's hipbones. "He was a writer."

"Yeah, I've heard of him. But the first thing I thought of was Horatio from _Hamlet_." He arched his hips forward, and Horatio smirked, turning to lightly pin him against the bed. "I mentioned to Eric," he said in the middle of a pleased sigh, "that Horatio was the only character to survive the tragedy, and apparently he sees that as very apt."

"He would say that," Horatio said against his neck as he pushed his hips against Nigel's.

His voice got caught in his throat as the familiar tremor of pleasure temporarily blinded him. "So," he said as he clawed at the hem of the pyjama pants, "what tragedy is he referring to?"

"In some ways, my whole life is a tragedy," Horatio replied, assisting in the undressing.

"In what way?" asked Nigel as he dragged his fingernails lightly down his stomach.

But before he replied, Horatio leaned down and murmured, "I want to make love."

"Mmm. Leave the condom."

"You don't want to use it?"

Nigel shook his head with a smile. "Nah. I trust that you don't have AIDS," he said, laughing and lifting one leg to rub against his hip. "There's lubricant in the drawer of the nightstand."

"You spoil me," Horatio said, genuinely intrigued by the proposition. He reached over towards it.

"Maybe, but you won't be the only one benefiting." He leaned up to kiss wetly around his neck, making Horatio move a bit faster for the lubricant. Nigel heard the hollow rolling of the drawer as he produced a small, glass bottle full of clear liquid and corked with a piece of black plastic. "And answer my question."

"Well, my mother died when I was in my early teens," he said offhandedly, uncorking the bottle with his thumb. "My father raised my brother and me. He was a cop, and both of us wanted to follow in his footsteps."

"Like father, like sons," laughed Nigel, taking Horatio's wrist to empty some of the lubricant into his palm. "I think I might like to meet your brother sometime."

"I'd like that, too, but he's dead." Nigel looked up at him. "He worked with Narco. He was killed in the line of duty a few years ago."

"I think I see what you mean when you say your life is a tragedy," said Nigel softly. "I'm sorry to hear that, Horatio."

He smiled faintly. "It's okay. I've mourned and moved on." He casually glanced down to see Nigel's lubricant-slicked fingers pressing into his opening. "And… now I'm distracted," he said honestly.

Nigel laughed and shifted slightly, apparently unopposed to making a show of it. He pushed in his index finger up to the third knuckle, then pulled out again and slid a second one in, in conjunction. Horatio's hand lingered on Nigel's thigh as Nigel added a copious amount of lubricant onto his fingertips.

"What about you?" Horatio asked as the hand slid upwards towards his waist.

"Not much to say," said Nigel lightly. "Raised in Kent. My father died of pancreatic cancer before I can remember, my mum remarried twice. I have more half-siblings than I care to consider, and I usually say that I'm an only child. Horatio," he sang, "you can stop stalling now."

Nigel had pulled the fingers out of the opening and not without Horatio noticing. He leaned down over him and kissed his upper lip. "You're sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes, already," Nigel insisted with a laugh, "and I don't know why _you_ aren't. I love you and I trust you and let's face it, condoms get annoying after a while, am I right?"

He paused for a moment, and then smiled. Horatio kissed him again before using one hand to gently pull his thigh to one side, moving his hips forward and pressing the head of his arousal to the slicked opening. "Okay," he said softly. He couldn't pretend for a moment that he didn't want it, either, and he had every intention of making sure that it went perfectly for both of them.

As he let his tongue drag across Nigel's lower lip, he gradually pushed his hips forward, breaching Nigel with one swift movement. They both simultaneously took in a sharp, deep breath: the lack of a condom certainly did make a very noticeable difference. There was a warmth in the contact that was like a swift tremor; it was intoxicating and he couldn't get enough.

Nigel let out a shuddering sigh and swallowed, moving his hands up to slide around his shoulders. "We… should have done this sooner," he said breathlessly on Horatio's mouth.

"Agreed," Horatio said, pulling his hips back and pushing forward again with a jerk. Nigel buckled at the waist and dug his fingernails into his back, pressing back up against him to bury him the impossible inch deeper. The kisses along the side of Nigel's jaw quickened with the rhythm and he could feel hands tangle in his hair. "Keep going," he gasped. "When did you-- when did you come to America?"

"1992," Nigel replied breathlessly. "Transferred from -- from Oxford. I majored in criminology and forensic anthropology, and had been recruited by the Royal Navy… oh, _God_, Horatio!"

Horatio had adjusted the angle of his hips and given a sharp thrust upward, apparently in direct stimulation of the prostate. He smirked. "You like that?"

Nigel nodded wordlessly, his fingers still tangled in Horatio's hair. Ever obliging, Horatio continued with a few more thrusts in the exact same position, successfully turning Nigel into a puddle beneath him. As he continued the deep, relentless rhythm, Horatio did his best to keep control of his movements, taking great care in making every second for Nigel (though that wasn't to say he wasn't enjoying it, either).

"Keep going," Horatio said into Nigel's ear. "You had been recruited for the Royal Navy, and…?"

"Could you -- ask me -- in about -- two minutes?" he asked in between the jarring thrusts into him.

"Watching you try to think during sex is half the fun," Horatio laughed quietly.

"Evil," Nigel mumbled as he arched his back off the bed. "Pure evil. I, uhm… I'd been hired as a counter-intelligence officer; didn't… didn't like that much, but they wouldn't -- wouldn't let me… go…"

Horatio was only half-listening; the rest of his attention was dedicated to the nearing orgasm. "That's… that's MI5, right?" he managed to ask. "That's British counter-intelligence?"

Nigel nodded again, his breath hitching. Horatio felt one leg bend at the knee and press against his thigh in an effort to pull off something -- he'd be willing to bet anything -- that would push him over the edge, and he was more than willing to oblige. Leaning down to kiss him hard on the mouth, he pressed down into Nigel with enough force to send the headboard thumping against the wall.

Reciprocating with a hollow desperation, Nigel's arms moved away from his hair and wound tightly around his neck as a few more thrusts sent him rocketing up to the peak of climax, with Horatio a split second behind him. As Nigel seized up around him he choked on his moan, breathing onto Horatio's lips as he felt the incredible sensation of being filled with heat. Horatio's hands tightened around Nigel's hips and he managed a last thrust before the power of the orgasm began to fade. A few seconds of silence, and then they slowly came to rest. Horatio gently pulled out and laid down next to him, pulling Nigel against him and into a kiss, which Nigel returned warmly.

"Let's burn the condoms," he said with a hoarse laugh, "because we're never using them again. That was _amazing_."

Horatio agreed with a soft noise, kissing Nigel's cheekbone. "It was." He lifted his head and glanced at the alarm clock. The luminous red numbers were glaring back at him. "Seven-twenty-five," he said, lying his head back down. "Half an hour until we have to leave. That should be enough time for a quick shower and breakfast, hmm?"

Nigel snuggled a bit closer. "God forbid we move," he said, "but you're right. I could whip up something to eat while you're in the shower."

"Sounds good," Horatio replied with a last kiss. A moment later, he slid off the bed and headed to the attached bathroom.

Stretching out across the sheets, Nigel turned to watch the window for a few moments, admiring the sun that was rising over the hills. He stayed there until he heard the familiar sound of running water, then he climbed out of bed and got dressed.

About fifteen minutes later, Nigel was almost done with a dish of Eggs Benedict and Horatio was coming down the stairs, shrugging on a grey jacket. By the time he entered the kitchen, he was adjusting his tie.

"Smells good," he said. "What is it?"

"Eggs Benedict," replied Nigel. "Horatio, you aren't going to believe this. Look at the news." He moved his hand away from the skillet and grabbed a small remote, hitting a button as he pointed it at the small white television in the corner of the counter. The television, which had been muted, suddenly became very audible, and the smooth voice of the field reporter for Channel 9 news echoed into the kitchen:

"… earlier that night by a professional arsonist. Though authorities have not disclosed any official information, they have said that the fire alarm system was tampered with, and that the target, therefore, was not just the building, but those that worked in the crime lab."

"Dear God, it's on the news already?" Horatio asked as he secured the tie to its proper tightness.

"Oh, yeah, and you wouldn't believe what sort of shit they're spouting," said Nigel as he shook his head, pushing the eggs around the skillet. "According to channel nine, it was either terrorists, Osama Bin Laden or the Italian mafia."

Horatio scoffed. "Could have been aliens if they're going by that logic, or perhaps the lack thereof."

"Take me to your leader or we'll blow up your crime lab," Nigel mumbled. "That's just lovely."

"We'll figure it out," Horatio said. "One way or another, we'll figure it out. And I'm very confident that it won't be Osama Bin Laden."

"Allah Ackbar," said Nigel lightly. "Breakfast is ready."

He emptied the skillet onto two different plates, taking them both to the table across the kitchen. A moment later, Horatio joined him on the other side. As they ate, Nigel was suddenly struck with a question:

"Do you think Eric managed to get that warrant for the Lovett case?" he asked.

"Probably," Horatio replied. "Eric has a few connections with judges. We'll probably be searching her place this evening. Oh, and by the way," he said, "how did things go when you talked to him in the hospital?"

"Well. Very well," he said with a smile. "The Cheesey-Poofs helped, by the way." Horatio laughed.

"He has a soft spot for junk food," noted Horatio as he took a bite of eggs. "Did you two come to some sort of accord?"

"You doubted it? You wound me, sir," he said. "Yes, we did. Apparently pulling him out of a burning building aided the change of heart."

"Imagine. That was pretty heroic of you," Horatio said. "Stupid, but heroic."

"Oh, don't even," Nigel chided, waving his fork at him in an accusatory manner. "As I said last night, you would have done the exact same thing and you know it."

"I plead the Fifth," said Horatio mildly.

"You would." Nigel took a forkful of eggs and washed it down with one of the glasses of orange juice he'd laid out on the table earlier. "By the way, you realise that Calleigh is going to be a wreck when she sees what's happened to her firing range."

"As Alexx will be if the autopsy lab is destroyed," Horatio said. "I don't think anyone will be jumping with joy at this, actually."

"We know it was a professional arsonist," said Nigel thoughtfully. "He was definitely targeting the staff and possibly the lab and its evidence as well. What we don't know…"

"Is who or why," finished Horatio. "Once we get back to the crime lab we'll be able to figure out more."

"Until then," he began, holding up his orange juice again, "cheers."

"Cheers," Horatio replied, toasting with a tap of his glass against Nigel's.


	20. Evidence in Your Rubble

The parking lot had cleared up since last night and the crime lab had been reduced to a tall, blackened shell of its former self. Though still recognisable, Nigel couldn't help but cringe as he laid eyes upon it.

Horatio appeared to be thinking the same thing as he pulled up in his usual parking space and turned off the car. They climbed out together and headed around under the tape, up to Frank, who was talking to the fire chief.

"Frank," Horatio greeted. Frank turned away and nodded to him. He looked unusually sombre.

"Horatio," he replied. "I heard Eric's in the hospital."

"Yes, but he's fine," Horatio said as he came to a stop a few feet away from him. "Broken leg, dislocated shoulder, but still wise-cracking. What do we know about the fire so far?"

"Definitely arson," Frank said darkly. "I've just been told that the seat of the fire has been found inside DNA, with an accelerant that had been -- get this -- _saturated_ in the material between the walls."

Nigel whistled low. "Jesus," he said, looking up at the building and squinting against the sun. "Someone definitely went out of their way to send this place up in flames, didn't they?"

Frank cocked his head in Nigel's direction and raised his eyebrows. "Who's this?"

"Frank, this is Nigel Townsend, a newly recruited criminologist," Horatio said. "Nigel, this is Detective Frank Tripp with homicide."

Nigel smiled weakly and offered a hand, which Frank took a moment later. "Welcome to Miami Dade," he said with a nod.

"Pleasure," Nigel said.

"Are we going to take a field trip to the origin of the fire?" Horatio asked as he pulled off his sunglasses.

"Would I let you down? I just cleared it with the marshal," he said. "You all need to suit up, though. You can do so over there, at the back of the fire truck."

Twenty minutes later, they were in long silver body suits with gas masks hanging around their necks. The gleaming fabric flashed just before they moved into the shade cast by what remained of the entrance hall, climbing acrobatically over the piles of blackened rubble. Nigel kept close to Horatio as they wove around a splintered section of ceiling and into the remnants of the hallway. Dust was floating mournfully through the air, illuminated by shafts of sunlight streaming through holes in the ceiling.

"This place looks like a ghost town," Nigel said under his breath. "I'm surprised it survived as well as it did."

"The origin was in Mass Spec," said Frank. "The stairs are intact; they were just far away enough to avoid any damage."

They made it to the end of the hallway and climbed the surprisingly preserved stairwell. With the sounds of their boots clomping against the floor, they made it to the top of the steps and pushed open the door.

It was a mess: the floor, walls and ceiling were so charred that they were almost unrecognisable as their previous white colour, and parts of it were still smoking. There were a few firemen sifting through the rubble, but they were moving so precariously that one would have though they were walking a tight-rope above a boiling lake of lava.

"You gotta be careful here," Frank told them. "We're not sure just how stable it is yet."

"Rodger that," Horatio said as he scanned the sad scene. "Someone really wanted this place gone, didn't they?"

"Apparently," agreed Nigel. He headed forward slowly, around a dramatic concave sink in the centre of the hall, inching around to the door leading to Mass Spec. He heard Horatio behind him as he turned to examine the room. It was, perhaps, in worse shape than the rest of the level, in infrastructure especially. "Damn," he murmured.

"Is it even safe to go in?" Horatio asked to Frank.

But before Frank could reply, Nigel leaned around to grab a fire extinguisher from the table. "Let's fine out," he said as he crouched to press the butt of it against large crack. It caved underneath the weight. "Nope."

"That makes it difficult," Horatio said needlessly.

"Mhm." Nigel glanced up and suddenly his eyes narrowed. A pale strip caught his attention.

Evidently Horatio noticed that he was distracted. "What do you see?"

"Maybe nothing," he replied, "maybe everything. Hang on."

Creeping slowly around the door to the very edge of the room, Nigel slowly moved around towards it.

"Hey, that's not safe--"

"He's fine, Frank," Horatio interrupted. He watched Nigel inch around to the back corner of the room and crouched down again and examined the moulding. "So?"

Nigel reached down and pulled at what looked like a pale, gnarled ribbon. It took him a few tugs to get it out, and it became detached with a popping sound. Nigel pulled it up to eye level.

"What's that?" Frank asked with a frown.

"Magnesium oxide," Nigel said with an undertone of _"ah-hah!"_ "That's very original."

"Magnesium oxide isn't flammable," Horatio said, perplexed.

"No, it isn't. But pure magnesium ribbon _is_, and after it's burned, it becomes magnesium oxide."

"English, please," Frank grunted.

"Didn't you take chemistry, detective?" asked Nigel rhetorically.

"Sure, Chem 101 in high school."

"Did you study combustibility?" he asked again. Rising to his feet quietly, he held the ribbon up to show him. "This used to be a pure magnesium ribbon. Magnesium is one of the most flammable elements. Expose a ribbon this thick to a fire big enough and… boom."

"Boom, indeed," Horatio mused. "That's frighteningly clever. How did they get it to spread?"

"I found this lodged underneath the moulding," Nigel said. "My guess is that if you pull at the walls, you'll find it all over the dead space."

"So -- hang on," said Frank. "Who knows how many metres of flammable magnesium _and_ kerosene saturated in the insulation?"

"They really, _really_ wanted this place gone," Nigel said as he slowly inched back around to the door. "How do you reckon they got the initial fire started?"

"It could have been just a spark," Frank reasoned.

"No," Horatio said, "no, they wouldn't take all this preparation and sit around, waiting for a spark."

"They couldn't have accessed it remotely," Nigel elaborated. "There's just no way. They'd need to…"

When Nigel drifted off, Horatio prompted him with a nod of his head, but it didn't seem to catch his attention. Nigel continued staring off into nothing until Horatio said, "Nigel? Need to what?"

"You know -- hang on," he said, reaching into the jumpsuit to produce his cell phone. He flipped it open and hit a speed dial. "I think I might have an idea, and we have someone who might know for sure."

Frank glanced at Horatio. "He's worse than you," he said offhandedly.

"Stop acting like you're disappointed," Horatio replied with a smirk.

Nigel heard the phone stop ringing. "Delko," said the voice on the other end."

"Yeah, Eric, hi," Nigel said suddenly. "Listen, I'm here with Frank and Horatio at the crime lab, and I'm wondering a few things. Can you pull yourself out of your horrible, agonising misery long enough to humour me with some questions?"

Eric laughed. "Sure. What do you need?"

"The fire you saw -- it was dazzling white and then orange, wasn't it?"

There was a perplexed pause. "Yeah," he said slowly. "How did you know?"

"I'm psychic," Nigel replied. "Tell me, did you notice anything out of the ordinary when the fire started, particularly around the corner of the room?"

Eric sighed and fell silent for a few moments. "I don't think so, Nigel. I don't remember seeing anything."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?" he insisted. "No new interns, no shady janitors?"

"Nothing," Eric said. "I was alone from the minute I entered to the minute I left."

Nigel sighed heavily and sank against the wall.

"Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear," said Eric, "but it's the truth. What are you thinking?"

"Magnesium was the trigger, and kerosene was the accelerant. It had to have been activated directly, and since Mass Spec was the origin of the fire…" Nigel drifted off.

There was a beat of a pause. "What about the janitor's closet?"

"Sorry?"

"It's on the other side of the Mass Spec, barely separated by a flimsy drywall," he said. "And you know what, now that I think about it, I did see the janitor mopping the same spot outside the door for about half an hour."

Nigel straightened. "So… there _was_ a shady janitor."

"He didn't seem shady at the time, just confused," Eric said.

"Did you recognise him?" he asked, suddenly becoming mildly alarmed.

"No, actually," said Eric, becoming more dark with each passing syllable. "I did see his uniform nametag, though -- I think it was Larry something… Stevens? Stevenson?"

"Hang on," Nigel said shortly, putting the mouthpiece of the cell phone against his chest. "Horatio, does the name Larry Stevens or possibly Stevenson ring a bell?"

"Larry Stevens? Yes, of course," Horatio said. "He's a janitor here; he's been on staff for nearly thirty years."

Nigel put the phone back to his ear. "Describe the janitor for me, Eric."

"Uh, let's see… dark hair, pretty long, either Hispanic or really tan," he said. "Short, kind of dumpy, missing a few teeth, maybe?"

"Thanks. Hang on again." Nigel put it back against his shoulder. "Horatio -- this Stevens fellow: dark hair, tanned skin, dumpy, squat, bad teeth?"

"No," Horatio said. "No, he's tall, thin and has white hair. I talk with him almost every day before I leave."

Nigel raised his eyebrows and put the cell phone back against his ear. "Thank you very much, Eric. Happy recovery."

"Later."

He flipped the cell phone shut and returned his attention to Horatio and Frank. "Gentlemen, I may have a theory for you."

-- -- -- -- --

It took them a while to find a useable crime kit, but once they managed to get their hands on one, Nigel practically flew down towards the janitorial lockers. By noon, Horatio was watching as Nigel meticulously dusted the small, metallic locker door for fingerprints.

"All right," Frank said, "explain this to me one more time."

"It's elementary, Watson," Nigel replied as the very tip of the duster brushed the grey-green surface. "The fellow that set the fire did so in the janitor's closet _right next_ to Mass Spec, which travelled through the wall and ignited in the corner. He was in Stevens's clothing at the time, and all janitors keep their uniforms in their lockers, ergo, he must have pulled one out from here."

The janitorial lockers were arranged in two long rows, the floor and walls tiled in pale green to compliment the colour of the actual lockers. There were two benches of light oak in each row and glaring fluorescent lights (which were out due to the fact that the power lines had been destroyed) dangling from the ceiling. Horatio had only been down here a few times, and when he had, he rarely lingered.

"Hello, there, my pretty," Nigel crooned as he lowered the duster. "Friends, we have a print."

Horatio glanced over his shoulder and his eyebrows rose. There was, indeed, a fingerprint towards the centre and off to the side of the locker door, clear and complete and very AFIS-friendly.

"And a beauty she is," said Horatio mildly. "We might have lucked out. If this guy is a repeat offender, his prints might be in the system."

Out from the kit, Nigel produced a black strip, the adhesive part of which Nigel peeled off and pressed onto the dusted fingerprint. A moment later he pulled it off again and folded it onto the black backing. He was grinning like the Cheshire cat as he held it up to the light of his flashlight and practically purred. "Off to AFIS with you, love," he said.

"You'll have to use the one at the precinct," Frank said, "since most of the computers in the lab are fried."

"Literally," agreed Horatio. "But that shouldn't be too much of a hassle. Isn't there a crime lab at the edge of the city we can use temporarily, anyway?"

"Invasion, yea!" Nigel said as he slid the print back into the kit.

"I'll go make a call to them," offered Frank. Horatio nodded his thanks and Frank headed out of the janitorial lockers just as Nigel fastened the crime kit shut and lifted it off the ground, rising to his feet.

"Are you going with him?" he asked.

"Probably," he replied. "Do you want me to take the print with me?"

"Sure." Nigel handed him the kit, which Horatio took. "I'll stay here and help the others gather up what evidence hasn't been destroyed."

"Okay. I'll call you when or if we get a match on AFIS," Horatio said.

Nigel smiled. "Go ahead, then," he said. "I'll linger here and finish cleanup -- just one more search of the place to make sure we didn't forget anything."

"All right." Horatio leaned over and kissed him briefly on the lips, into which Nigel easily responded. "I'll see you tonight; how about I pick up dinner for us, how does that sound?"

"Sounds great. What are you thinking? Italian?"

"Italian is fine with me."

"Then Italian it is," Nigel said. "I'll see you then."

Horatio, smiling, gave him one last (briefer) kiss before he walked past him and up the steps that led to the main level, his footsteps echoing into silence.


	21. Doubled in Your Trouble

There was a small silver CD player in the corner of the shelled out lab that was blasting out music to lighten the otherwise sombre mood as Nigel pulled a piece of drywall away from the countertop to see what, if anything, remained underneath. He didn't see much of anything besides a blackened, half-melted microscope and a gnarled, blackened pen. He set the fragmented wall aside and hummed along to the chorus:

_Have some composure, where is your posture? Oh, no, no,_

_You're pulling the trigger, pulling the trigger all wrong_

_Have some composure, where is your posture? Oh, no, no,_

_You're pulling the trigger, pulling the trigger all wrong_

_Give me envy, give me malice, give me attention_

_Give me envy, give me malice, baby, give me a break_

_When I say "shotgun," you say "wedding"_

_Shotgun wedding, shotgun wedding_

Nigel turned the microscope around to look at what had been examined and saw a relatively intact glass slide. He made a "hum" noise and took it from the bed, sliding it in a box with the other evidence had been recovered, setting it carefully down on the floor at the foot of the counter.

_She didn't choose this role, but she'll play it and make it sincere_

_So you cry, you cry (give me a break)_

_But they believe from the tears and the teeth right down to the blood at her feet_

_Boys will be boys, hiding in oestrogen and wearing Aubergine dreams_

"My lab!"

He turned around and saw Calleigh staring around with a completely heartbroken expression on her face and a hand pressed against her bosom. Nigel sighed and straightened slightly. "Hey, Calleigh."

"My beautiful lab," she whimpered, heading to the wall and stroking it with a silver-gloved hand. "H better save me a piece of the scuzz-bucket that did this."

"Considering the waiting list, I reckon you'll be getting a small portion like the rest of us," said Nigel as he sifted through the contents of the countertop. "Have you seen Alexx about lately?"

"Yeah, she's down in the morgue, helping the other examiners take out the corpses." As Nigel lowered a few test tubes into the bag, he heard Calleigh pull open a heavy door with some effort. "Oh, hallelujah!" she said suddenly. "The gun vault is safe!"

"Alert the national guard, the emergency has been cleared," laughed Nigel

"Hello, my beauties," sang Calleigh as she disappeared inside. "Did you all miss me, hmm?"

"Unhealthy social interaction, Calleigh," Nigel said. Reminded of social interaction, he asked, "Where's Jordan?"

"Oh, she's around," came the response, muffled through the wall. "I think she's helping Eric or Speed or Ryan or somebody with evidence collection."

"How are you, ah… how are you getting along with her, by the way?" Nigel asked as he picked up the bag and inched back to peer around the edge of the doorframe. "I know she's a pretty unbearable roommate, but you two seem to be getting along swimmingly."

Calleigh looked over her shoulder, causing her blonde hair to sweep down across her back. She smiled at him and laughed shortly. "No, she's great, really," she insisted as he examined a semi-automatic in both hands. "She's lots of fun, and we've got a lot in common."

"How much?" he asked with an impish grin, hauling the bag of evidence to the centre of the gun vault.

"Well," she said, "we both hate it when people pry into our personal lives."

"Come on, I'm her best friend; it's my job to be nosy," Nigel said ad he adjusted the leather thong laced into the hem of the bag to pull it open. "So, go on, then; spill. Was it really just popcorn, chick flicks and _Cosmo_ magazine?"

"Are you implying something?" she asked dryly, giving him a vaguely offended expression.

"Yes."

"Oh."

"So? Was it? Or was it… something more?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

"You are unbelievable," she accused, even though she was laughing and Nigel could have sworn she was blushing. "Not to mention somewhat hypocritical. What makes it different than you and Horatio, hmm?"

"Y-chromosomes, mostly," said Nigel. Calleigh laughed again. "Wait," he said suddenly, "are you saying you and Jordan are like me and Horatio? Are you _sleeping_ with _Jordan?_"

She gave him a stunned look. "_You're_ sleeping with _Horatio?_"

Nigel held up one finger and opened his mouth, but for the first time in years, he couldn't think of anything to say. Calleigh burst into laughter, vainly trying to stifle it with one hand. "Oh, my God," she said weakly. "I mean, I had my suspicions after that phone call, but you're actually _sleeping_ with him?"

"Yeah -- well," he began stiffly, "he happens to be _very_ good in bed, so there."

"That's a bit too much information, Nigel," Calleigh laughed, handing him a semi-automatic to put it in the collected evidence bag. "And to answer your question, no, we haven't slept together, but…"

"But…" Nigel said as he put the gun away, "you wouldn't be opposed to it, would you?"

"I said nothing."

-- -- -- -- --

No sooner had Horatio scanned the fingerprint into AFIS at the Miami-Dade Police Department than his cell phone had gone off in his pocket. Reaching for it and flipping it open with one hand, he put it to his ear. "This is Horatio," he said as he hit the 'enter' key and began the search.

"H, it's Delko."

"Hey, Eric. Do you have good news for me?" he asked as he heard the familiar trilling as the print was matched up with twenty others each second.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. "I just got a call from a county judge, and guess what? We've got our warrant for Mrs. Lovett's house."

"Excellent," said Horatio as he sank down into a chair across from the computer. "That's great. Hand that off to Calleigh, Ryan or Speed when you get the chance, would you?"

"No problem," he heard Eric say. Leaning on one hand, Horatio continued to watch the screen as it scrolled through file after file. "Do you have any news on the lab?"

"You might want to ask Nigel," Horatio said. "I'm currently at the precinct. We might have our arsonist's prints."

"Really? Was it the janitor?"

"Sort of -- he was posing as a janitor, but he wasn't a real employee. We found prints on the locker door of the uniform he used when Nigel dusted it."

"Let me know how that turns out," said Eric. "I'd go see for myself, but the nurse taking care of me is apparently a Nazi-in-training.

Horatio smirked. "It's okay," he replied, "you should be concentrating on getting better."

Eric groaned and said, "That's what the nurse keeps telling me!"

"I'll see you later, Eric," Horatio said with a laugh before he flipped his phone shut and slid it back into is pocket. Not a moment later, he heard the familiar "blip" noise and a profile flashed onto the screen of the monitor.

The mug shot on the left side showed a gruff-looking Hispanic man with long, wavy hair and a bushy moustache. His eyes seemed halfway glazed over and his face contorted in a constant scowl. Horatio glanced at the provided information and made a soft "hmm" sound, right as the door groaned open.

"Hello, Frank," greeted Horatio before he even looked away from the screen.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked, puzzled.

"Intuition," he replied mildly. "Take a look; we got a hit on the print."

He heard Frank head across the room and peer over his shoulder. After a few moments of silence, he said, "Juan Valdez, huh? Well, he certainly looks the part of a disgruntled arsonist."

"Yes, but looks can be deceiving. Look at his priors."

Frank paused. "Armed robbery, assault, possession…"

"But no arson," he pointed out. "So either he does everything perfect the first time, or he's an accomplice."

"And if he did everything perfect the first time, he would have gotten rid of that moustache in '84," Frank grunted, putting one hand on his belt. "Do we have his current location?"

Horatio scrolled down with a few taps on the keyboard. "Well, what do you know -- Miami, Florida; wonders never cease."

"We have an address, but based on the information, I'd say it might be outdated," he said. "His last conviction was in 1995."

"Well, we know he's in Miami," Horatio said, "and I think that paying Senor Valdez a visit would be a wise decision."

"You want to drive?"

"Sure."

-- -- -- -- --

Nigel heaved the now-full evidence collection bag into the back of the armoured van and heaved the heavy door closed. With a few beats on it, the van honked twice and drove off and out of the parking lot. Just as he was about to get another sack, his cell phone rang in his back pocket.

He headed into the shade as he produced it from his jeans and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Oh, hi," Nigel said as he came to a halt and wiped his brow of the sun-induced sweat. "How's it coming?"

"Great," said Horatio. "I just wanted to let you know that we got a hit on the prints."

"Yeah? Who?"

"A fellow named Juan Valdez," he replied. "He has priors convictions for possession, robbery and assault, but _not_ arson."

"You thinking accomplice?"

"I am. Frank and I are heading over now; there was an address on file."

Nigel nodded even though he knew Horatio couldn't see it. "Okay. I'm just helping to gather evidence that survived the fire; we've got a good lot, considering. Oh, and Calleigh would like to inform you that the gun vault is safe."

He heard Horatio laugh. "Well, that's good."

"And so is your office, remarkably," he said. "But based on how the fire was set up, it was probably one of the primary targets. If a custodian hadn't washed your carpet, it would have been dry enough to catch fire and send the whole room up in smoke."

"What about the other offices?"

"Unharmed," Nigel said grimly. "Which seems kind of ominous, don't you think? Your office was one of the prime targets, apart from DNA."

"So…"

"So someone expected you to be there."

"There's a green light on me."

It wasn't a question. He had a chilling resignation in his voice, and Nigel would be willing to bet that it wasn't the first time that he was the subject of attempted assassination.

"I know you can take care of yourself and everything," he said, "but just be careful."

"I always am," Horatio assured him. "I've got to go; we're almost at Casa Valdez."

"All right," said Nigel. "Love you."

"You, too. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye."

Nigel flipped his cell phone shut and slid it away again. When he looked up he saw Alexx walking a covered gurney out towards the parking lot; it was undoubtedly one of the cadavers from the morgue. Accompanying her were a few first year ME's in pressed white lab coats. Nigel smiled at her as she slowed to a stop before the gurney hit concrete.

"Hey, honey," she greeted.

"Hey," he replied. "Last of the cadavers?"

"Nearly," she said as she pushed her hair onto her back. "They're taking some of them out in sacks; the fire almost destroyed them. To make matters worse, some of them were _already_ in pieces to begin with."

"Then it's just a matter of hide-and-seek," Nigel said. "You'll get them. Worse come to worst, you can get a team of cadaver dogs."

"Lord help us all if it comes to that," Alexx said, holding up both hands. "I'll see you later, sweetie."

Nigel nodded before heading past her and back into the building. He had work to do, after all."

-- -- -- -- --

"I k now you can take care of yourself and everything, but just be careful," Nigel said, pulling a smile onto Horatio's face.

"I always am," he said reassuringly. He looked out the window and saw, hanging on the whitewashed walls of the house on the corner -- 4622, and the house he was looking for was 4680. "I've got to go, we're almost at Casa Valdez."

"Alright. Love you."

"You, too," he replied. "I'll see you tonight."

"Bye."

Horatio closed the phone and slid it away. He glanced back out the window and saw 4632 through a tall, mangled shrubbery.

"Who loves you, exactly?" Frank asked with a voice full of astonishment. Horatio glanced at him mildly, unconcerned, and then turned back to the window.

"Who do you think?" he inquired detachedly, interested in what Frank was thinking.

"Do you have a new girlfriend?"

"Not exactly," Horatio said, "but you're close." Before Frank could respond, Horatio slowed down the Hummer and turned into a rocky, gravely driveway. "Here we are."

He shifted it into park and pulled the key out of the ignition. Almost synchronously, they stepped out of the car and onto the gravel, heading across a patchy front lawn and up to a dilapidated house with rain-streaked windows and a door that was nearly falling off its hinges. However, someone must have been home, because they could hear the sounds of a television from beyond.

Exchanging a glance, Horatio and Frank stopped just outside the door. Frank raised a thick hand and knocked loudly on the door. It took a few seconds, but eventually the noise stopped and they heard the sound of shuffling from somewhere inside. A few seconds after that, the door open.

Horatio didn't even look away from the bush next to the foot of the door. "Juan Valdez?" he asked immediately, finally tearing his eyes away and focusing his gaze squarely on the man in the doorway.

He looked substantially older than the photo he'd seen on AFIS, but it was recognisably him: he carried the same heavy-set jaw and ridiculous facial hair.

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "Who are you?"

"MDPD," Horatio said evenly, flashing his badge. "Can we come in?"

"Why?" he asked warily, scanning them both with a scrutinising glare.

"We need to ask you some questions," Frank said. "And by the way, a walrus called and he'd like his moustache back."

"Hey, fuck you!" he barked.

Horatio smirked and pulled his sunglasses off. "We just need to ask you a few questions, Senor Valdez," he said evenly as he slid the sunglasses into his breast pocket. "My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine, and this is Detective Frank Tripp."

He was frowning and fidgeting, but Horatio knew that, in an attempt to sound innocent, he wouldn't deny them entry. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

The door squealed as it was opened fully, and as Horatio entered, he detected a bitter scent hanging in the air, one that he couldn't exactly identify, but that was very familiar. As the door was closed behind him, the three of them were in a tight corridor with a stair, a hallway and a single table with a dead plant on it. There were spider web-like cracks around the crown and foot of the walls and a brass chandelier hung by a single, broken link from a mouldy ceiling.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"It's about," Horatio replied, "your fingerprints. Your fingerprints found on a locker of a crime lab that was recently burned down -- a crime lab in which you have no reason to be."

"Not to mention that this is _our_ crime lab he's talking about, so it's very personal," Frank added.

"Very personal," he agreed. "We know you didn't light it up, however."

"You're not smart enough."

"You're working for someone. I want to know who it is."

Valdez was staring back and forth between them, as if he were watching a tennis match. When the silence collapsed over the conversation, he was all but babbling.

"You guys-- you guys work fast," he said.

"Yes, we do," Horatio said. "If you tell me who you're working for -- _now_ -- your sentence of first-degree arson might be lifted to accomplice arson, Senor Valdez. That's a difference in jail-time of up to five years."

"So come on, Scruffy," Frank grunted. "Give us a name."

Valdez was chewing on his lower lip and raking a hand through his hair.

"Give us a name or we'll place you under arrest right now, Valdez," Horatio growled.

"I don't know his real name!" he snapped defensively. "He told me to call him Joe Bloggs."

Horatio snorted. Frank glanced at him with a question on his face.

"Joe Bloggs," Horatio said. "The British equivalent of John Doe. What does he look like?"

"I don't know, I didn't look at his face much, uh… darkish hair, kind of skinny--"

"Grey eyes?" Horatio cut him off.

Valdez paused for a few moments, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah. How did you know?"

Horatio watched the stairway as if it would move at any moment. "Because, Senor," he replied slowly, "I think I have met him before. Frank." He jerked his head to motion Frank closer so he could mumble in his general direction: "Call Nigel, tell him to run a search on Mason in the British criminal database and have him call me back with what he finds."

"Who's Mason?"

"He'll know who I mean," Horatio said. Frank just nodded and headed out the door as Horatio returned his attention to Valdez, who was looking desperately confused. "Senor, how much do you know about arson?"

"Nothing," he said honestly. "I don't even know why he chose me."

"And how much did he know about arson?"

"A lot," Valdez mumbled. "He was talking all this crazy chemistry at me. Shit about magnesium and kerosene…"

Horatio raised his eyebrows. "Really. Okay. Did he mention motive?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and fell into silent thought for a few moments. "Not really," he said slowly. "He just kept mentioning retribution or something."

Horatio darkened. Retribution couldn't be interpreted many ways, and he would have had to be deaf, dumb and blind to have missed the meaning.


	22. Warrant in Your Hand

Horatio escorted Valdez out of the house and into the back of the Hummer. Once he closed the door, he heard Frank finish up a sentence, cell phone to his ear.

"Yeah, I'm sure. H said to call him once you've got everything. Alright." He flipped it shut and confronted Horatio's curious gaze. "Nigel says he's on it, and he'll have the information in about an hour or so."

"Good," said Horatio as he slid his sunglasses on. "Then let's get Valdez back to the precinct and finish his questioning."

-- -- -- -- --

Not for the first time that day, Nigel's cell phone rang in his back pocket while he was collecting evidence from the rubble. Setting the large sack down on the floor against the wall, he pulled it out and opened it. "Townsend," he said as he pushed his hair out of his face.

"It's Tripp," said a familiar, gruff voice. "I've got a message from Horatio."

"Oh, hi," he said, uncertain of the level of formality he was expected to use. "What is it?"

"We're here at Valdez's place, and he's been playing lackey to some fellow named Mason, going under the pseudonym of Joe Bloggs."

Nigel snorted. "The British equivalent of--"

"John Doe, I know," Frank said.

"Wait, Mason? As in Edward Mason?" he asked.

"He said you'd know who he was talking about," Frank said, "so probably. He said to run a criminal record in the British database rather than the American."

Nigel stared at the wall for a moment. "Edward Mason -- you're _sure_ he meant Edward Mason?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said. "H said to call him once you've got everything."

"Right," Nigel murmured, his mind whirling.

"Alright," Frank finished before he hung up. Nigel followed a moment later and breathed out low, processing the information. Edward Mason was the man behind the arson? That meant quite a few things, among them: he really wanted to get this place and these people out of the way, and he was willing to burn down a building to achieve it. Who was he doing this for? Himself?

Nigel took the bag out to the front and put it in the back of another truck when he heard a voice from behind:

"Nigel."

He turned and saw Speed heading over, away from a small black car. He was holding a folded slip of paper and harbouring a triumphant smirk.

"What's that?" he asked, puzzled.

"Warrant," he replied delightedly. "I visited Eric -- he just got it. We can now legally search Mrs. Lovett's house."

"Good, that's good," Nigel said. "Look, I need to get to a computer, and you should probably come with me."

Speed stopped about two feet away and gave him a perplexed look. "Why?"

"I just got a call from Frank," he replied as he shrugged off the silver regulation jumpsuit. "Horatio and he are questioning the man who started the fire, and guess what? The man behind the operation is Edward Mason."

"Eleanor Lovett's lover?" he asked, stunned.

"The same," Nigel said darkly. "I need to do a background search on him. So come on; we'll go back to H's place and use his computer."

"You've got keys?"

"Of course I do, O, ye of little faith," he said, producing them from his pocket and jingling them.

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio thumbed through the manila folder, idly looking through the notes. "Your record," he said slowly, "isn't very interesting or appealing, is it, Senor Valdez?"

"Armed robbery; caught a day later," Frank said. "Assault; caught a week later. You don't have much street cred, do you, Scruffy?"

Valdez sneered at them.

"How long have you been conspiring?" Horatio asked mildly.

"I don't know," he said, "a week maybe?"

"A week? He rigged the whole place in a week?" Horatio inquired sharply. Valdez nodded slowly, obviously unfamiliar with a typical arsonist's timeline. "That's frightening," he said softly.

"How did he do it?" Frank asked. "After hours? Posing as someone else?"

"I don't know how he did it," Valdez said. "Felt like magic, sometimes. I didn't even come into the picture until the last minute."

Horatio watched the window thoughtfully, staring out to the busy precinct with a detached fascination. They were moving to and fro, and the sounds of their voices were drowned out by telephones ringing and face machines humming. It was then that he realised how distant from society -- from the real world -- that he actually was. And how much it really didn't matter to him.

"So what you're saying," Horatio inferred slowly, "is that you're just a pawn and nothing more, is that it?"

"I… I guess, yeah."

"How convenient," said Frank flatly. "That doesn't wipe your slate clean, though, amigo."

Horatio's cell phone rang. He paused for a second, then reached into his pocket to pull it out. The tiny screen on the face of it was lit up with bright green, and he saw "NIGEL" on it in black text. He flipped it open and put it to his ear. "Nigel, hi."

"Horatio, you psychic son-of-a-bitch, you aren't going to believe this."

-- -- -- -- --

"Let's hope that the MI5 hasn't deleted my registration from its system," Nigel said as he opened the browser and typed in the appropriate URL.

"MI5?" Speed asked.

"British counter-intelligence," he explained. "The old, less-enjoyable job I had back in London."

"You were a counter-intelligence official?" Speed said, sounding impressed.

"I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you," Nigel replied with a laugh. "All right, let's see…"

Into one of the two text-boxes, he typed "NTOWNSEND06235" and into the other he entered his old password (viciously memorised from over a decade ago). He hit enter and watched helplessly as the tiny series of circles spun around and around. Nigel drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk, anxious and hoping beyond hope that --

"Oh, thank God," Nigel sighed as the screen flipped onto the homepage. "Much thanks to the lazy bastards at MI5; God save the Queen, indeed."

Speed snorted. "All right, so you can access the database?"

"Quite right you are," replied Nigel, using the tip of his left index finger to access the appropriate link. "Let's have a look-see, then." When the long form appeared on the screen, Nigel entered all the information he could -- first and last name, gender, general appearance and possible crimes committed. With a few clicks, the database was searching.

He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head, watching the status bar slowly fill. A few seconds later, Speed suddenly laughed.

"What?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

"'God save the Queen,'" Speed said with a chuckle. "That's clever."

"I'm allowed to be somewhat patriotic, aren't I?" he inquired rhetorically.

"Well, you did leave your home country," Speed pointed out.

"You would, too, if you were being forced to work at a job where they made you to ruin the lives of your friends and family," replied Nigel under his breath. "Besides, let's face it; 'God Save the Queen' is _so_ much nicer than 'The Star-Spangled Banner.'"

"Untrue!" said Speed indignantly. "'The Star-Spangled Banner' is a beautiful song."

"Oh, don't even. It's so verbose. 'What so proudly we hailed by the twilight's last gleaming?'" he said with a snort. "It's purple prose, is what it is."

"It's poetry."

"It's _tacky_."

"And I suppose 'God Save the Queen' is musical brilliance?"

"I should say so," Nigel said primly. "It flows; it's lovely. 'God save our gracious Queen, long live our noble Queen, God save the Queen.'"

"If 'The Star-Spangled Banner' is verbose, then 'God Save the Queen' is repetitive!" he said, elbowing him sharply in the shoulder. "Besides, the queen is filthy stinkin' rich and she's got guards around her 24/7. I'd say that's one saved queen."

Nigel laughed, shaking his head. "So, what, then? Should it be 'God screw the Queen?'"

"God screw our gracious Queen," Speed sang with a huge smirk on his face, "she needs reality; God screw the Queen--"

They both collapsed into laughter and continued like that until Nigel's sides ached. They barely even noticed when the laptop beeped at them when the search finished. Wiping a tear, he sat up and hit the enter key to prompt the database, causing the file to flash up onto the screen.

"Hey," Nigel said. "Hey, we got a -- holy shit…"

Even Speed was shaken out of his stupor by the rap sheet that had appeared on screen. "Jesus," he mumbled. "Two, four, six, eight… thirteen?"

"Thirteen counts of arson. Three _confirmed_ counts of arson," Nigel said with a breath in. "Okay, hang on, I'm calling Horatio." He reached to his back pocket to produce his cell phone, flipping it open and holding down five on speed dial before putting it to his ear.

It stopped mid-ring. "Nigel, hi."

"Horatio, you psychic son-of-a-bitch, you aren't going to believe this," Nigel said, disbelief etched into his voice. "Not one, but _thirteen_ counts of arson in the MI5 database alone."

There was a very long pause before Horatio said, "Wow."

"I know, Speed and I had the same general reaction," Nigel informed him with a sigh.

"Well, I've got a bit of icing on the cake," Horatio said. "He set up the whole of the crime lab in a week."

"A _week?_ Is that even possible? The crime lab is huge!"

Speed suddenly nudged at his shoulder. "Nige, budge over for a minute," he said, so Nigel stood up and leaned against the desk instead, allowing Speed to take his seat at the laptop.

"Apparently it is possible; very possible," said Horatio. "Frank and I are questioning Valdez now, and he started about a week ago. He says he has no idea how he managed it."

"Well, he can join the club," Nigel groaned. "This guy is unbelievable. Thirteen counts of arson -- thirteen! That's got to be some sort of pyromania record."

"You took the words right out of my mouth. By the way, Eric got the warrant; I think Calleigh is going to pick it up. Take her and Speed to Mrs. Lovett's and see what you can find, okay?"

"Sure. Don't you want to come?" he asked.

"I want to; unfortunately, I don't have the time. I'm still questioning Valdez," he replied. "I trust you. You'll do a thorough job. No stone unturned, yes?"

"Leave no evidence, take no prisoners," he said with a laugh.

"Well, we wouldn't object to a prisoner," said Horatio reasonably. "But I'll be home before seven."

"With Italian."

"With Italian, of course."

"I'll see you then," Nigel told him with a smile. "Love you, but you know that."

"And I, you, but you know that, too," replied Horatio. "Bye."

Nigel flipped the phone shut and glanced back down at Speed, who was looking back up at him with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "You love him?"

Laughing hesitantly, Nigel rubbed the back of his head. "Err, yeah," he replied. "Yeah, actually."

"Like… seriously?"

"Like, seriously," Nigel said.

Speed was silent for a few long moments. Judging by the look on his face alone, Nigel wasn't very worried about what his reaction would be; Speed seemed to be a level-headed fellow. Nigel had a bit of trouble pinning him as a homophobe -- it seemed too out-of-character. However, that didn't relieve much of the tension.

"Okay," Speed said finally. "So, is this the point where I say that it's scandalous to be having an affair with your boss?"

Nigel laughed, relieved at the humour. "Well, neither of us really expected it -- it just sort of happened on its own. But I wouldn't worry about the usual repercussions."

"If you say so. Though… I never saw Horatio as being into guys," he said. "He had a wife once."

The smile fell off Nigel's face. "He… he did?"

"Yeah," Speed said. "Marisol. She died three years ago; she was Eric's older sister."

Nigel swallowed. Horatio was a widower? Why hadn't he told him?

"How…?"

"She was shot," Speed told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Assassinated by a member of the Mala Noche; they're a gang here in Miami, always giving the CSI a hard time."

Nigel chewed his lower lip, the news making a cold twist in his gut. He knew that Horatio was a dense man, but this went beyond a mere facet of his personality: this was a secret that he'd never told Nigel, even when they were talking about each other.

Then again…

Nigel hadn't been completely truthful, either. His father hadn't died of pancreatic cancer; his father was very much alive (to the extent of his knowledge), though he hadn't seen him for nearly a decade. He was so estranged from his father, in fact, that he told almost everyone that he was dead, because he was dead in Nigel's mind. Any man who would abandon his wife and two children when his youngest son was only eight could be nothing but dead to him.

But Nigel loved him, and he knew Horatio felt the same way. It seemed as though both of them needed to do some talking when they got back home.

"I… didn't know that," Nigel said finally.

"Well, Horatio's a pretty deep guy."

"Mhm," Nigel agreed. "But he sure is something, isn't he?"

"Something? Yes. Though I couldn't tell you what, exactly," Speed said.

Nigel had an idea of what he was, however, and a hint of a smile curled onto his lips. Widower or not, Horatio was amazing, and the best thing that had happened to Nigel in a long time.

"We have a warrant, by the way."

"To Mrs. Lovett's?"

Nigel nodded. "Calleigh's picking it up right now at the hospital -- Eric's got it. Horatio just told me, you and her to head over there and do the search."

"Fun," Speed said, standing up. "Shall we, then?"

"After you."


	23. Living in Your Mask

"Mrs. Lovett, with this warrant, do you understand that myself and my colleagues have the right to search your home and anything we see as connected to our investigation?"

"Yes," she said, tearing her eyes away from the paper, "but I don't understand. Didn't you already search my home while I was in the hospital?"

"We did, ma'am," Speed replied, "but now we know what to look for, specifically."

"Moreover, we have not one, but two crimes connected to this search," Nigel said as the latex gloves snapped back onto his wrist. "So go and get comfy somewhere; we're going to be here for a while."

"_Two_ crimes?" she asked, looking shocked. "What other crime is being investigated here?"

"Oh, it's a little thing, really," Calleigh said mildly. "Maybe you heard it -- our crime lab was burned down, and your charming lover is the primary suspect."

"What? Edward? No, that's not possible," she said, appearing genuinely shaken. "He wouldn't--"

"Mrs. Lovett, he has _thirteen_ counts of arson on his record back from Britain," Nigel said, cutting her off. "We have an accomplice of his that has confirmed he was the brains behind the operation that destroyed our labouratory, so please, ma'am, just have a seat."

The expression on Mrs. Lovett's face was one that was truly shocked. Weakly, she nodded and slowly sank onto an overstuffed loveseat opposite a picture window that overlooked the garden. Nigel grabbed the handle of his kit and picked it up, looking out through the door the led to the foyer.

"I'll take the bedroom," Nigel offered, glancing back at them.

Calleigh nodded. "Okay. I can take the kitchen and living room, Speed, if you want the bathrooms and the cellar."

"I can do that," Speed said. "Meet back here in an hour?"

"Rodger that," said Nigel before he headed out towards the steps. When he made it to the bedroom a few moments later, he glanced across the scene, wall-to-wall. The first thing he noticed was the existence of not one but two beds, opposite one another and both immaculately made.

"Maid service," he said to himself, "typical. Okay, if I were a key piece of evidence, where would I be?"

He set the kit down on a trunk at the foot of the husband's bed and flipped the latches open, prying the top apart and peering inside. He took out the slender, black flashlight from the corner f the kit and flicked it on, using the end of the beam to scan the surface of the bed. Seeing nothing out-of-the-ordinary, he turned his attention to the bookshelf and end table to the left of the bed. Nigel scanned the titles and his eyebrows rose.

"That's interesting," he murmured, crouching down to get a better look at the lower shelves. Amongst the books he saw were such titles as _Mein Kampf_, the _Communist Manifesto_ and _Anthem_, not to mention several titles that he didn't recognise but got the gist of nonetheless, most notably, _Owning Humans: Why Slavery Will Never Die_, _Ultimate Control_, _Justifying Your Means_ and _Willing Bondage_. He whistled low and pulled out Hitler's infamous autobiography and flipped it open on hi knee. It was terribly beaten-up and dog-eared, as if it had been read many times. The husband was obviously into some pretty sketchy stuff, if his taste in literature was any proof.

He slid the book back into the shelf and turned his attention to the wife's side of the room. She, too, had a bookshelf, though her tastes seemed significantly more normal. _A Tale of Two Cities_, _Cyrano de Bergerac_, _Crime & Punishment_, _Faust_, and _Lady Windermere's Fan_ were only some of the works that Nigel could identify.

"Are you a fan of literature, Mr. Townsend?"

Nigel looked over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Lovett standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. He managed to return the smile, if hesitantly.

"I dabble," he replied. "I haven't had as much time to read lately, at least not as much as I'd like." He shifted the beam of the flashlight onto the bed, scanning the comforter.

"You have my empathy," she said. "Lord knows that there simply aren't enough hours in a day." Nigel picked up the book on he bedside table (_Shakespeare's Tragedies_, as compiled by Natasha St. Pierre) and flipped through it casually. Act III, scene iv of _Othello_ had been bookmarked, but it wasn't the play that caught Nigel's attention.

The bookmark, itself, was a timeworn and hopelessly bent brochure, printed on green paper, advertising an open-house audition for the musical _Hairspray!_, hosted by the Florida Thespian Society.

Florida Thespian Society. FTS. That was the company putting money into her account, which could only mean one thing:

"You're an actress?"

She was silent for a long moment, and Nigel looked up at her in time to see her smile weakly. "It's more of a hobby, really," she said.

Nigel didn't believe her for a second. Though she seemed completely honest, Nigel knew that the FTS had paid her too many times for acting to be a "hobby." But why would she lie about that? It must have been important. Perhaps he would look into that; a bit of individual research that he'd keep on the down-low. Or, better yet, maybe he'd get Horatio to do it for him.

"Well, I'm going to have to do a routine scan for blood," Nigel said, setting the book down casually back on the table as if it were of little importance, "so I'll have to ask you leave the room." Mrs. Lovett nodded as if to say "of course," and then headed out towards the hall. Nigel waited until he heard her moving down the steps then grabbed his cell.

He hit speed dial and a few seconds later, Horatio was picking up. "More good news?"

"Depends on how you define it," Nigel replied. "H -- FTS stands for Florida Thespian Society." He grabbed the book off the table again and opened it with one hand.

"Thespian? She's an actress?"

"And a paid one, to boot," he said. "I asked her about it and she said theatre was a 'hobby.' I mean, logically, she wouldn't have gotten hundreds of payments if it were just a hobby."

"So she's lying," Horatio inferred instantly. "Why is it that important?"

"My thoughts exactly," Nigel said with a smirk. "I'd go investigate for myself, but I've got to finish up with the search warrant over here."

"I'll do it if you have an address for me," offered Horatio.

"You know me so well, my love," Nigel crooned. "I _do_ have an address for you -- I found a brochure being used as a bookmark. It's at…" (he unfolded the brochure) "… 12024 Coconut Grove in Palm Quarry."

"I know where that is," Horatio said after a moment. "It's ten minutes from the precinct."

"Convenient!"

"Very," he agreed. "I'll go nose around and call you when I get more information."

"All right; I'll talk to you then," Nigel said.

"Mhm. Love you."

"And you." He flipped the phone shut.

-- -- -- -- --

"You know me so well, my love. I _do_ have an address for you," Nigel said, and Horatio heard the soft crinkling of paper in the background from the other end of the line. "I found a brochure being used as a bookmark. It's at… 12024 Coconut Grove in Palm Quarry."

He paused briefly. "I know where that is," he said. "It's ten minutes from the precinct." Horatio checked his watch; it was just after noon, and a theatre should still be open.

"Convenient!" Nigel said.

"Very. I'll go nose around and call you when I get more information," Horatio told him, putting his hand back on his hip.

"All right," he replied. "I'll talk to you then."

"Mhm. Love you."

"And you."

Horatio ended the call and slid his phone away. He looked through the window of the questioning room, seeing Frank still caught up with Valdez, and then rapped on the glass. He looked up at Horatio, who jerked his head to motion him out. Frank said something to Valdez before heaving himself to his feet and heading out.

"Yeah?"

"I've got somewhere else t be," Horatio informed him evenly. "Think you can finish up here alone?"

"Sure, Valdez is a joke," Frank said. "Where are you headed?"

Horatio produced his sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket and unfolded tem, sliding them on. "I," he said, "am going to pay a visit to a few thespians."

Two minutes later, he was in the Hummer. Ten minutes after that, he was driving down Coconut Grove, counting off the numbers on the buildings until he found the right address. The first thing to strike him was how very run-down it appeared: with two sic and polished department stores on either side, the Florida Thespian Centre seemed particularly unappealing with its sprawling, grass-split parking lot and the old wooden pavilion, rotted with mould. The large double doors were far past their prime, as were the dirty, cracked windows on either side. As Horatio made his way into the entrance hall, however, he was reminded that books were never to be judged by their covers.

The foyer was richly decorated with scarlet-coloured velvet and gold, with an empty box office directly opposite the entrance and two doors leading to the upper mezzanine on either side of it (the doors to the orchestra levels were to his left and right, so marked by elaborate signs). He pulled off his sunglasses and glanced across the room, examining the many aged posters put up on the walls. According to the scrolling marquee above the glass of the box office, the current production showing was _Hamlet_ with _Othello_ next in line (November and December were apparently Shakespeare months).

From somewhere beyond the far wall, he heard the muffled sounds of voices. Apparently rehearsal was in session; perhaps he could talk to the owner of the theatre.

As he slid his sunglasses into the inner pocket of his jacket again, Horatio headed to his left, through the door and down a long, winding flight of stairs, and as he descended, the voices grew louder and louder. A connecting corridor between the base of the steps and the entrance to the orchestra level echoed the growing noise, and when Horatio finally pushed open the door, the shrill voice of a woman met his ears full force.

"Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended!"

A woman with long, wavy blond hair was standing onstage in a white silk nightgown. Across from her was a younger blond man in all black and a scowl -- undoubtedly Hamlet and Gertrude.

"Mother, _thou_ hast my father much offended," countered the actor, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Horatio looked away from the stage and scanned the house. It was nearly empty, save a few people scattered through the first two rows, reclined in their seats and watching. Deciding it was his best bet, he headed down the aisle towards the stage as the play continued.

By the time he was at the edge of the orchestra pit, he could see with relative clarity the face of the man he could only assume was the director lounged front and centre. He had slick black hair and a distinctly upturned nose, and he was sporting an open pinstripe blouse and a long, thin scarf draped over his shoulders. He had a clipboard resting on his thigh and a pen poised in his hand.

Horatio cleared his throat loudly, managing to catch his attention. The director sneered at him -- that is, until Horatio casually moved one side of his jacket back and let his badge flash in the light from the catwalk. When he saw it, his eyes went wide and he cut the scene short:

"Okay, guys, hold it -- take five, everyone!" Horatio watched as Hamlet and Gertrude fall out of character and give each other perplexed looks, shrug, and move off the stage as the director rose to his feet and headed over toward him.

"Rehearsal between performances?" Horatio asked.

"It keeps them sharp," the director replied. "Can I help you with something, officer?"

"Hopefully," he replied. "My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine with the Miami Dade Crime Lab. I was hoping you could answer a few questions."

The director blinked owlishly at him. "Horatio? That's appropriate."

Horatio gracefully ignored him. "Does the name Eleanor Lovett mean anything to you?"

"Eleanor? Of course," he said, "she's one of FTS's best actresses."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? How long has she been working with you?" he asked, glancing up at the stage as a few stagehands tidied up the scenery.

"Oh, quite a while now," he replied. "Going on five years. Why?"

"What do you know about her husband?" he asked, not keen on answering any of his questions until his were answered, first.

"Husband…? Oh. Francis, right?" he asked with a sour expression. "Not a lot, but what I do know, I don't like. He used to give her a hard time about acting; she'd always end up fighting her way to rehearsal."

"Used to?"

"Yeah," he said. "It sort of stopped all of a sudden about--"

"Four days ago?"

The director stared at him silently. "Yeah," he said a moment later. "How'd you know?"

Once again, Horatio did not reply. Instead, he asked, "What sort of relationship did they have, exactly?"

"They didn't," replied the director, slowly becoming more exasperated. "They didn't really marry for love."

"I know," Horatio said, "but I meant in a more general sense. Did they fight?"

"_Did_ they?" he laughed. "Yes, they did, like cats and dogs. That bastard was always trying to control her life."

Horatio's eyes narrowed. "Could you be more specific?"

"He didn't like the fact that she wanted to stay with theatre," he said flatly. "He said that it wasn't good for appearances. He made her go to med school and become a doctor, but theatre is a jealous mistress, and Eleanor usually argued her way to another show."

"What was the extent of his power over her?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, shrugging. "I really don't. She never outright said anything without prodding, but I wouldn't be surprised if he decided what clothes she wore every day."

Eleanor had lied to Horatio and Horatio had believed her. She'd said that she didn't mind being married to Francis, when she so obviously did, based on the testimony of her director. Horatio had _believed_ her.

He could almost hear Nigel's voice in his head:

_"Of course you believed her, she's an actress!"_

Horatio frowned. Be that as it may, he wouldn't believe her again without hard evidence t back it up. He wouldn't be played like that again.

"Is there anyone I could talk to who would have a more definitive answer?" he asked.

"One of her co-actors, maybe. Look," he said emphatically, "what's this about? What are you investigating?"

Horatio looked up at the stage again. In full costume, Polonius and Gertrude were chatting thoughtlessly on a loveseat. After a pause, Horatio finally replied with, "Francis Lovett was murdered four days ago."

When he looked back up at the director to gage his reaction, he looked only mildly surprised. Horatio cocked one eyebrow inquiringly, and the director just sneered.

"Forgive me for not being more saddened or shocked," he said, "but based on how he treated Eleanor, I can't spare him either. As a wise man once said, 'Judge not a man by how he treats those he sees as equal--'"

"'--rather, judge him on how he treats those he sees as inferior,'" Horatio finished. "I'm familiar with the adage."

"Well, he saw Eleanor as inferior. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he saw her as property," he said. "And how did he treat her? Like dirt."

"I'll keep that in mind," Horatio said. "Are there any of her friends present that I could speak to?"

The director was silent for a moment. Eventually, he said, "Yeah, try Cindy Dodge, she plays Ophelia. They share a dressing room."

"Which?"

"Take the left wing down the hall," he said. "It's the third door on your right."

Horatio nodded his thanks, heading off to the side of the house and climbing up a small flight of stairs leading onto the stage, and then finally around to the wing.

It was a strange sight: everyone around him was either in full Shakespearean garb or in all black, and most of them were toting around random stage props. Horatio enjoyed the occasional play, but he'd never had the opportunity to go backstage before, and he watched it with a detached interest. Actors were a very strange breed.

True to the director's word, the third dressing room on the right had a white board dangling from a rusty nail on the door, reading "Cindy & Ellie." Coming to a halt in front of it, he rapped three times on the door and waited.

It only took a few seconds for the reaction to come. From inside, Horatio heard, "The door's open!"

He turned the tarnished silver handle and pushed it inward into the dressing room. The space was long but narrow, with costumes on every imaginable surface besides the floor. Two large vanities sat opposite each other, but only one was taken. She was a pretty young woman -- Horatio was willing to bet early thirties -- with long, light brown hair that fell in even ringlets halfway down her back. She peered at him in the mirror with a curious expression before she turned in her seat to face him.

"Cindy Dodge?" he asked mildly.

"Yes," she replied, rising to her feet. "Can I help you with something, Mister…?"

"Lieutenant," corrected Horatio. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine with the Miami Dade Crime Lab."

"Horatio?" she asked with a blink. "That's appropriate."

He pulled his badge off and brandished it. She peered at it and swallowed, smoothing out her white skirt anxiously. "I wanted to ask you a few questions about your friend, Eleanor Lovett, and her husband," Horatio said as he hooked the badge back onto his belt.

"Eleanor? You're here about Ellie?" She suddenly looked scared, shifting in her spot. "Oh, my God, is she okay?"

"She's fine," Horatio said. "However, the same can't be said about her husband. He was murdered."

"Francis is dead?"

"You knew him?"

"Not personally, no," she said. "But Ellie and I talked about him a lot. She hated him."

Horatio raised an eyebrow. "Could you elaborate, please?"

"Well, he was a tyrant!" said Cindy defensively. "He watched everything she did. You'd hate it, too, if you were in her situation."

"I'm sure I would," Horatio said, turning his head and looking at what he assumed was Mrs. Lovett's vanity. "Did they fight?"

Cindy sighed, sinking back onto her seat. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But she patched herself up."

"Yes, she was a doctor, right?"

"Only because Francis forced her into medical school," she said bitterly. "Ellie never wanted to be a doctor. She hated it, but she didn't have a choice."

Horatio studied her vanity thoughtfully. Eleanor certainly did seem to have plenty of motive, but based on how much provocation she was getting, Horatio was beginning to think that she deserved a medal rather than L-WOP. That didn't change the fact that he had to arrest whoever was responsible, whether or not that was her.

"What do you know about a man named Edward Mason?" he asked.

"Who?"

Horatio glanced at her, surprised. She hadn't told a close friend about her lover, despite the fact that it was apparently safe to do so?

"Tall, thin fellow, dark hair, grey eyes?"

Cindy paused, clearly falling into thought. It took her a moment, but eventually the light bulb presented itself above he head. "Oh, him! Yeah, he always comes to her shows. Did she know him personally?"

"Very personally," Horatio said. He checked his watch -- it was almost five o'clock. If he wanted to get the long-awaited Italian before six, he needed to leave now. "Ms. Dodge, I need to go," he continued, "but if I were you, I would expect me again, so don't go far."


	24. Kink in Your Sex

Unlocking, opening and moving through his front door turned out to be quite a challenge when Horatio was carrying three separate Styrofoam containers with dinner in them. Somehow, though, he managed it, though he had to set them on the steps before he could shrug off his coat. He picked them back up and moved into the kitchen, gleaming and bright but empty. Nigel was in the living room, visible from Horatio's current position, tapping away at his laptop with a pair of headphones on. With his back to Horatio, he was more or less oblivious to the world around him.

Horatio quickly and quietly moved the two main dishes onto separate plates and laid two thin pieces of garlic bread on each of the plates from the third container. He dug two forks in amongst the noodles on each plate, then picked them up and moved across the kitchen toward Nigel's seat on the couch. Setting them quietly down on the table behind the couch, he leaned across the back and kissed the side of Nigel's neck.

His reaction was simultaneously hilarious and adorable: it was a sort of squeak accompanied by a jump and a sharp swivel of his head. He sighed out low when he saw who it was and Horatio laughed against his skin.

"You bastard," he accused, yanking off his headphones, "you really scared me!"

"I brought food; you're not going to hold a grudge," Horatio pointed out, sliding his hands around to Nigel's front. "Sorry I'm late. Unsurprisingly, traffic was a mess."

"A likely story," said Nigel, raising one hand from the keyboard and lacing it in Horatio's. "I'll consider forgiving you, provided you brought something good."

"Would I do anything else?" he asked as he produced one of the plates over the top of the couch and down within Nigel's grasp. "Shrimp Alfredo over fettuccine."

"Ooh," was Nigel's approving reaction as he moved his laptop onto the table across from him, making room for the plate, which he took with one hand. "All right, all is forgiven. But don't let it happen again."

Horatio just smiled, taking his own plate and heading around to the other side of the couch, taking a seat next to Nigel, who was already prodding at a pale pink shrimp. With his own dish of Chicken Marsala, Horatio collapsed next to him, adjusting the thin silver fork in his right hand. "I just got back from the theatre, by the way," he said.

"Oh, yeah. How did that go?" he asked before taking a bite of the shrimp and surrounding noodles.

"It was a goldmine," Horatio replied. "I have two friends of Eleanor Lovett who told me that, prior to his death, Francis Lovett was controlling every aspect of his wife's life, down to her profession."

Nigel raised one eyebrow inquisitively. "Let me take a stab in the dark and say she didn't like it."

"She hated it, which means--"

"She lied," he finished. "She _does_ have motive to kill her husband."

Horatio nodded. "The only problem was that we know she didn't pull the trigger. There had to have been someone else there; she had no GSR on her hands."

"So… she hired someone," Nigel guessed. "But she was shot in the process, so it must have gone awry."

"It could have been intentional, too," pointed out Horatio after swallowing a piece of chicken. "A non-fatal wound for realism's sake, perhaps."

Sighing out thoughtfully, Nigel leaned back in his spot as he fiddled with the heap of noodles on his plate. "Okay," he said slowly and thoughtfully. "She marries Francis for the money and quickly discovers she hates it, but she deals with it. A few years later, she meets Edward Mason, who turns into her lover. I'd be willing to bet he had something to do with it."

"He wouldn't have shot her, for realism's sake or not," Horatio said. "They're obviously in love. Though I do agree with you -- he might have convinced her to hire a hit man."

"But they framed that molester. Why?"

Horatio fell silent. That was a very good question. La Hire had a very tight business running, and there was no way he would have let a murder happen among his ranks. There was a good chance that Edward had no idea who Lester is, and an even better chance that neither of them had any idea that he was connected with the ring.

"Maybe he wasn't framed," Horatio said quietly.

Nigel watched him through keen brown eyes. "Maybe he did it, after all."

"Maybe his print was on the gun because he had it beforehand, and he wore gloves to keep GSR off." Horatio carved a piece of chicken off with the side of his fork, saying, "We're going to have to ask him about that tomorrow."

"Yes, we will."

"How did your search go?"

Nigel made an "oh" noise around his noodles, but managed to swallow before he replied. "Neat as a pin. Frighteningly neat, actually," he said. "If Lovett didn't have OCD, then I'm Geoffrey Rush."

"Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder," Horatio said thoughtfully. "The innate need to control everything in his environment, which explains why he governed his wife's life so strongly."

"Explains, perhaps, but doesn't excuse," Nigel said. "I don't know, Horatio… a child molester who controlled his wife like a marionette? I think she should be given a trophy."

"So do I. Unfortunately, we're obligated to protect him."

"Albeit unwillingly."

"Albeit so," he agreed. "By the way, I have a surprise for after dinner."

"A surprise," Nigel repeated, raising his eyebrows. "Feel like telling me what it is?"

"If I told you now, it wouldn't be a surprise, now, would it?"

"At least give me a hint," he pried, grinning. "Animal, vegetable or mineral?"

"Well, I think if it were an animal, it would have been rather hard to conceal," he reasoned. "A vegetable would be just illogical, so I'm going to go with mineral."

"Hmm. For work or play?"

Horatio paused. "Define 'work.'"

"You are being intentionally vague," Nigel accused, pointing his fork at him. "Come on, give me something I can work with."

"Well, I was at a theatre. Theatres have prop rooms."

"Yes…"

"All sorts of things, from swords, to armour, to rope…"

"And?"

"Didn't you once mention something about tying you up?"

For a few seconds, Nigel didn't seem to be following. Horatio waited patiently as the wheels turned in his head, and once the pieces connected, it was too evident to be ignored.

"Oh, my God, you kinky little--"

"Satin cords," Horatio said with a smirk that should have been illegal. "Crimson satin cords, to be more precise. The owner of the theatre was kind enough to let me have them when I inquired about their purpose." He glanced casually at Nigel, whose jaw was hanging open. "They used to hold the curtain back," he explained, "but they had the curtain replaced last year. And it really was a shame to let them go to waste."

"You're serious," Nigel said, somewhere between gasping and laughing.

"Were you joking when you mentioned being tied up?"

"Well, I--"

"Because I like the idea," Horatio cut him off. "In fact, I _really_ like the idea. Besides, a little kink never hurt anyone."

Nigel couldn't help but laugh. "Lieutenant Horatio Caine, head of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab and one of the top CSI's in the state… is kinky."

"Not nearly so much as some," he pointed out, "but yes, a bit. Does the idea not appeal to you?"

"I never said _that_…"

"The image," Horatio began as he set his nearly-empty plate off to the side, atop a book resting on the coffee table so he could edge his way towards Nigel, "of having both hands tied above your head and secured to the headboard…"

Nigel whimpered.

"… as I hold you by the hips and fuck you into the mattress…"

Horatio had to move the plate to the coffee table so he could be in the proper position to get under Nigel's skin, on which he could detect goose bumps. He let his hand ghost up Nigel's side, and he arched hungrily into the touch.

"… does not appeal to you whatsoever?"

For a few long moments, Nigel couldn't seem to put a noun and a verb together to make any sort of coherent sentence, but Horatio was nothing if not patient, and he waited, with a knowing grin, as his words settled into his lover's psyche. Slowly but surely, Nigel breathed out shakily.

"Okay, so maybe it sounds somewhat enjoyable."

"'Somewhat?' Based on your reaction, I'd say it seems more than _somewhat_ enjoyable," Horatio teased, the palm of his hand sliding down Nigel's thigh. "In fact, I'd go as far as to say that you are ready and willing to give it a shot."

"Fine, you caught me," gasped Nigel, pressing up against Horatio's wandering hand. "But I swear to God, Horatio, you evil little schemer, if we aren't having hot sex before this hour ends I am _never_ going to forgive you."

"Hmm, better get to work on that, then."

The Italian lay forgotten on the coffee table as they made their way up the steps, nearly blind. Clawing at one another's clothes as they stumbled into the bedroom, Nigel breathed heavily against Horatio's mouth, far more excited about being tied up than he probably should have been. He wasn't the only one guilty of eagerness, however, as was plainly evident when Horatio produced a long, deep red cord, neatly folded in his pocket.

"I still can't get over the fact that you're kinky," Nigel panted as Horatio smirked and leaned down to drop kisses across his chest. "Who'd have thought?"

"Well, I don't usually flaunt my sexuality. Don't get me wrong," he said as he moved towards his neck, "vanilla sex is great, too, but after a while it just gets… well, sort of old. And nothing spices it up quite like a dash of kink."

Nigel didn't have time to respond; Horatio pinned his wrists against a pillow and grinned a predatory grin, looking rather like a feral wolf or something equally dangerous and unpredictable. And truth be told, Nigel was beginning to like the idea more and more.

Succumbing with a shaky moan, Nigel wrung his hands as they were tied together in what was undoubtedly a military-style knot and in turn tied to one of the long, vertical rungs on the headboard. Once Horatio had finished his ministrations he turned his attention back to Nigel and grinned.

"You," he said in a low voice, "look absolutely exquisite."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Nigel replied breathlessly, tugging experimentally on the rope only to discover that they were perfectly executed knots that he couldn't hope to get out of. "The fact that these knots are well-done is mildly frightening and highly arousing at the same time."

"I aim to please," said Horatio, who was moving down Nigel's body leisurely, dragging his fingertips across his skin. Nigel's mouth fell open and he arched his back off the bed when Horatio's hands reached the hypersensitive pelvis area, his breath rate suddenly tripling. Kissing along the sharp curve of his hipbone, Horatio said, "Delicious."

"Amazingly, cannibalism is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies," Nigel replied, startlingly matter-of-fact, given his current situation, though the familiar sarcasm only amused him. Horatio nipped at the skin near his waist, eliciting a small squeak and a jerk.

"What was that you were saying about cannibalism?" he asked innocently.

"No need to go all Jeffrey Dahmer on me…"

"Unlike Dahmer, there's only one part that's interesting me at the moment," said Horatio as he pulled one finger down through his inner thigh and across the perineum, causing a shiver to race up Nigel's spine. "Hmm. I have a beautiful, virile young man tied up and at my disposal. The possibilities are endless," he murmured before he started a line of kisses across his thigh, spreading the other to one side.

Nigel let out a shuddering moan, tugging at the restraints and making the wood of the headboard groan slightly. "You," he gasped, "are enjoying this far too much."

"And I'm not the only one," noted Horatio smugly, curling one hand around the warm shaft lying against Nigel's pelvis. He hissed in a breath and arched off the bed in a manner that looked almost desperate, and Horatio could see sweat beginning to bead on his brow. "I think you like it just as much as I do. Am I close?"

Nigel would have sooner died than say "yes" out loud, but there was very little point in denying the obvious. Instead, he bit his lip, swallowed, and finally managed a hoarse "Maybe."

"Maybe? We're going to have to do something about that," he said with a series of "tsk's." Reaching over to the bedside table, Horatio pulled open the drawer and produced a small, half-full glass bottle with a black rubber cork, which he pulled out with his teeth. Horatio released Nigel's arousal to pour a copious amount of the clear lubricant onto his hand, and then moved to press his fingers against the all-too alluring entrance.

The responding noise was somewhere between a gasp, a groan and a cry, but either way, it clearly wasn't unwelcome: Nigel bucked his hips up wantonly and swallowed hard. "Horatio…"

"Yes?"

"You're an arse," he whimpered.

He smiled faintly and moved up Nigel's body, though he kept his fingers circling the entrance teasingly. "Just tell me what you want," he said mildly, the force in his wrist hard enough to notice but too soft to penetrate.

"It's not glaringly obvious?"

"I can't very well read you mind."

"Just _fuck_ me, you enormously evil--"

Horatio kissed him mid-sentence, more than willing to follow through but with enough fight left in him to torture him a bit more. Just as Nigel began to respond to the kiss, he pressed two fingers forward, breaching him in one smooth movement.

Nigel's mouth fell open and he moaned heavily against Horatio's lips, and he was drinking in the sensation. He was wholly enjoying watching his lover squirm, but at the same time his patience was wearing agonisingly thin. The only thing he really wanted at the moment was to spread his legs and make love until they reached climax or the neighbours called the cops (whichever came first), but he knew, resignedly, that it was for both of them. So Horatio was content to watch Nigel's reactions as he slowly started to move his fingers in and out.

"Oh, my God -- Horatio, that -- _aaaghn--_"

"Mm," he hummed against the lines of Nigel's neck. "You like that?"

He nodded wordlessly, clearly overcome by his senses. Horatio smiled and quickened his movements accordingly, watching as Nigel practically dissolved underneath him. His free hand, which had previously been resting on the bed, moved up and once again attended Nigel's arousal, which had him almost screaming.

Kissing his open mouth hungrily, Horatio pushed his fingers in as far as they would go, moving both hands in time and feeling his hips rise and fall with them. He continued for thrust after thrust, watching in rapt fascination as his lover was pushed closer and closer to orgasm.

"Horatio," whined Nigel breathlessly as he bucked his hips up particularly hard. "Horatio, I'm not -- not going to--"

Sufficiently convinced, Horatio pulled his fingers out and snatched the neglected bottle of lubricant, barely keeping his desperation at bay. Emptying all that remained onto his palm and slicking it onto his own needy arousal, if a bit haphazardly, Horatio spared a glance at Nigel, who appeared to be catching his breath. He wasn't keen on the idea of allowing him any more time than was necessary, and so he quickly corked the bottle and set it aside, pressing firmly against his entrance a split second later.

Nigel pulled sharply at the cords, which was really only fodder for Horatio, who had his hands tangled in Nigel's hair and a satisfied smirk on his face. Watching him with the last threads of his patience strained, Horatio let a long breath out across Nigel's jaw and shifted his hips back before entering him in one swift movement.

Being inside Nigel was like being enveloped in hot, wet silk: the feeling was addictive and Horatio couldn't get enough of it. Three weeks ago, if a scenario like this had been presented as his future, he wouldn't have believed a word. But now it seemed so incredibly real that Horatio wasn't sure if anything else in his life could come close. At that moment, he knew, though he couldn't hope to explain how. He knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life like this -- with Nigel, someone for whom he had unlimited trust, respect and affection.

He was strong and competent, and Horatio didn't have to be a constant pillar or a knight in shining armour. He was intelligent, so he didn't feel obligated to make every decision. He was alluring and sexy, and he could turn him on and make him feel whole -- effortlessly. It was really no wonder that Horatio had fallen as hard and fast as he had. In a way that was so obnoxiously cliché that it was rather baffling, Nigel was the missing piece to his puzzle; a puzzle that he thought he'd never bother to finish again.

Horatio untied the cords as they made love, and Nigel promptly slid them around his neck in an effort to pull him closer than the laws of physics allowed. It was slow, a change that didn't quite fit in to their previous activities, but neither of them particularly seemed to mind it. Kissing him with everything he was worth, Horatio trailed one hand to Nigel's side and held there as he rocked into him with a constant, steady force.

The speed never really increased, at least not for long. Climax was like that first minute of relaxation after a long day, beautiful, simple and ephemeral. Horatio emptied into him with a shuddering sigh, Nigel not far behind, seizing up around him as he came almost silently.

For a few long moments, they both were still as they caught up to their breaths. Horatio was still buried in him to the hilt as his heart rate began to even. Eventually, he leaned down, kissed him, then slowly pulled out with a soft, wet _pop_.

Horatio collapsed next to him on the bed, and like clockwork, Nigel was nuzzled into him a moment later. He smiled sleepily and reached over with one hand to stroke through his hair.

For almost ten minutes, they were silent. Then:

"Who's Marisol?"

"Stunned" was too strong of an adjective to describe Horatio's reaction. He was surprised, to be sure, and somewhat disquieted by the question, but not stunned. Slowly, he looked over at him.

"Who told you about Marisol?" e asked softly.

"Speed," he replied. "Well, only a bit. Horatio, you never told me you were a widower."

He said nothing for a moment or two, processing the information. "Marisol… was Eric's older sister," he said finally. "She had leukaemia, and was shot and killed by a member of the Mala Noche a few days after our wedding."

Nigel sat up on one elbow to better study his face. He had a look of quiet contemplation, Horatio noticed, one that was neither particularly angry nor sympathetic.

"Three years ago?"

Horatio nodded. Then he frowned. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner," he said quietly. "I guess it's an old wound that hasn't yet fully healed."

"Well… I guess I have to make an apology, as well," Nigel told him with a sigh. "I lied to you -- about my family, I mean."

"How do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"My father… my father didn't die of pancreatic cancer," said Nigel. "That's what I tell people, because he's dead in my mind. The truth is that he abandoned me, my mother and brother when I was eight, and I haven't so much as talked to him since then."

"It looks like both of us withheld a little," Horatio pointed out, rubbing the top of Nigel's hand comfortingly. "Neither of us had the happiest childhoods, it seems."

Nigel shook his head. After a brief pause, he suddenly sat up. "I want to know," he said. "I want to know everything."

"Everything?"

He nodded. "Everything. I figure that it's been a long time coming, anyway. So, go on -- pull a David Copperfield if you have to. I want to know."

Horatio fell silent. Even his closest friends didn't know the whole story behind his family history, yet for some reason, with Nigel that didn't bother him.

"Well," he began quietly, "I was born and raised in New York. I had a brother, Ray, who was older than me, a mother and a father. My home life was… pretty screwed up," he admitted. "My father--"

He faltered. Nigel blinked, and then frowned. "Yeah?"

"My father… well, he was a police officer," Horatio said, "but not exactly the shining example of one. He was -- he was ritually abusive to me, Ray and my mother. He would usually be drunk, and always felt sorry the morning after, but it never changed a thing."

Nigel swallowed. "Wow."

"When I was fourteen, my mother died," he continued. "It was one of his usual drunken beatings that got out of hand. My mother intervened and probably saved my life, at the cost of her own. I called 9-1-1, but she was dead upon arrival at the hospital."

"Oh, God," he said softly. "Horatio, I'm so sorry."

He smiled weakly. "So am I," he admitted. "That's why I wanted to work for the justice system. I wanted to be everything my father wasn't. I wanted to make sure that people like him… that people like him were where they were supposed to be: behind bars."

"You're doing a good job so far," Nigel said with a hesitant smile.

"Ray had the same sentiments, but he was killed in the line of duty. He and I were very close; his death was pretty rough, but I'm still here."

Nigel kissed his shoulder, and Horatio laughed once, shifting so he could pull Nigel against him. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Sword cuts both ways," Horatio said. "Tell me about your childhood."

"Well, it seems sort of pitiful after that, but I'll give it a go," said Nigel. "Uhm… I was raised in Kent, like I said. My mother is an emotionally unstable, misty-eyed Bohemian who constantly wants to know why I didn't grow up to be a playwright or an actor," he explained, and Horatio laughed. "I know, it's usually the other way around, but most things in my life are pretty backwards.

"My father is… well, I don't remember much about him," he said. "He left when I was pretty young. He just sort of up and left one day, leaving Mum in heaps of debt, and because he was the primary breadwinner of the family, we couldn't exactly easily pay them off. I had to get a job when I was fourteen just to help keep us above poverty."

Horatio listened quietly, his chin on Nigel's shoulder.

"I was -- still am, actually -- very resentful of him. Still, though, there were times when I wished he'd call or write or something, so I could find out if he was still alive." He paused, staring at the bed sheet as he traced patterns on it with his fingernail. "I came to America in the nineties, leaving Britain behind, after graduating from Oxford _magna cum laude_, I got a job in Boston… not much to say after that."

"What about your brother? You mentioned that you had one," Horatio said.

"Yeah, my brother's name is Christopher," said Nigel thoughtlessly. "We don't keep in touch much, but we'll call occasionally and send Christmas cards and what. He's a PR for Armani."

"Chic."

Nigel laughed. "Yes, unfortunately, he can barely dress himself. I sometimes wonder if he's colour-blind."

"It's obviously not an inherited trait."

"Flatterer."

"Maybe a little. You know, as long as we're in this mode," Horatio said, "I might as well tell you about… well, about why I fell in love with you, for lack of a better euphemism. It actually has quite a bit to do with Marisol."

He nodded, after a pause.

"Marisol was… well, she was almost the complete opposite of you. I mean, you have some similar characteristics; you're both hopelessly selfless at times, both beautiful, but the thing about Marisol," he said, "was that she was helpless most of the time."

Nigel raised one eyebrow. "Helpless?"

He nodded. "She was very frail, even though she resented it. Her cancer made her weak enough, but she didn't have any street-smarts; she always seemed to be the victim. I loved her," said Horatio, "but I think in some ways I resented her."

"Because she was helpless?" he guessed.

"Yes. I always had to be strong enough for the both of us, but with you…" He looked up at Nigel and smiled. "With you, that's just not something I worry about. With you, I don't have to be paranoid -- when you ran into that burning building for someone you didn't even like, I was worried by default, but I knew that you could take care of yourself. And I don't think you could even begin to understand just how much of a relief that is."

Nigel was silent for a few moments, and then he smiled warmly. "I think I get what you mean," he said as he moved closer again, burying his face into Horatio's shoulder. "I wish I could be so sure of what drew me to you, though. I couldn't dream of knowing definitively. You deserve your own adjective."

Horatio laughed and kissed the side of his head, drawing him close. He shut his eyes on the glaring numbers on the face of his alarm clock (10:43) and breathed out.

"Smart, interesting, loving, chivalrous -- none of it seems appropriate enough," Nigel said. "You're Horatio. That's enough for me."

He smiled and fell silent for a few moments.

"Plus, you're amazing in bed, so that's a plus," he finished. Horatio laughed again.

"I'm glad to see we have our priorities laid out," he said.


	25. Forward in Your Thinking

The shrill ringing of Nigel's cell phone jarred him out of a warm slumber. Even when it stopped, he could still hear it echoing harshly in his head. Something shifted under him -- he'd fallen asleep with his head on Horatio's chest, and the phone had apparently woken both of them up. Groaning and doing an autonomic stretch, Nigel just managed to lift his head long enough to look at the alarm clock. It was ten minutes past six in the morning. Deciding that it was far too early for this, he grabbed a pillow and pulled it over his head just before his phone rang again.

"What is that ungodly noise?" Horatio asked sleepily.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it needs to stop."

"I think it's your cell phone…"

"_Bugger._"

Nigel blindly reached across Horatio's chest toward the nightstand, groping around until he felt the sleek black phone under his fingertips. He grabbed it, yawning, and pulled it back over to his ear, opening it with a fumble of his hand and finally grunting to show that he'd picked up the phone. At this point, Horatio had already dozed off again.

"Nigel?" asked the voice on the other line. "Are you awake?"

"No," he replied.

"Well, you'd better wake up," said Calleigh gravely. "Come on, Nigel, seriously. This is important."

He yawned widely again and rolled over onto his back, tangling himself in the sheets. "Okay, okay. I'm listening, what is it?"

"Lester's dead."

_That_ woke him up. Nigel's eyes flew open and he sat up. "What? How? When?"

"He was found dead in his holding cell with a broken window and a gunshot wound to his head," Calleigh said with a sigh. "The day before he was supposed to be shipped off to prison, no less…"

"Oh, my God…"

From behind him, Nigel heard Horatio sit up on his elbows. "Nigel? What's going on?" he asked, his sleepiness not masking the worry in his voice. He slowly looked over at Horatio.

"Lester's been murdered," he replied quietly.

-- -- -- -- --

It was going to be another one of those days, Horatio decided as he drained a cup of coffee all of five paces outside the precinct. Nigel was at his heels, stuffing what was left of his croissant into his mouth. The building seemed unusually full and tense, and Horatio tossed the empty cup into the trash before he strode down the main hall. A few moments later, they were standing outside the entrance to the holding cell wing, where Calleigh, Jordan and Speed were standing and talking urgently under their breaths.

"Good morning," he greeted, coming to a halt in front of them. "What do we know so far?"

Speed was the first to reply: "Not a whole hell of a lot. Alexx, Eric and Ryan are in there now."

"Single gunshot wound to the back of the head," Jordan said, "with no other visible wounds. It would be rather unremarkable if it hadn't come from the window."

Horatio fell silent. "Through the window," he said thoughtfully. "Sniper?"

"Maybe," Calleigh said. "It's a small entrance wound, possibly a .223 but I can't be sure without the bullet."

"Still lodged in his head?" asked Nigel, to which Calleigh nodded.

"Once Alexx gets him to post, we'll know more," Speed said. "You want to head in there now?"

Horatio just nodded, saying "Thank you" as he strode past them, Nigel following. It wasn't difficult to discern which cell was his: the third on the right was the only one wide opened and the only one surrounded by people. The inside was plain and Spartan, but realistically, Horatio wouldn't expect anything more or less. Lester was sitting at a plain white desk, his head forward on the table, surrounded by a pool of deep red blood. Both hands were dangling at his sides, and Alexx was crouched down, peering at the wound.

"Too early in the morning for a dead body, Alexx?" Horatio asked as he came to a stop a few feet into the cell. Nigel headed past him, peering curiously at the desk.

"Well, I have to start somewhere," she said as she felt around his chest. "But it seems pretty straightforward to me -- the bullet entered the body trough the occipital bone and went straight through. It looks like it severed a few facial arteries."

"Which," Nigel interjected, "explains why there's so much blood. He must have bled through the mouth. Are there no other wounds?"

"Not that I can see," she replied. "But I'm just waiting for someone to get here with a bag; at least you won't have to wait long for the post."

Horatio nodded, watching as Nigel studied the blood. Eric snapped a photo of the shattered window and glanced over at them. "There's nothing of much interest in here, H," he said dismissively. "I think if we find anything, it'll be in the sniper's nest, wherever that is."

"Actually…"

He looked back at Nigel, who was now staring more closely at the blood. "Alexx, would you life up his head for a minute?"

Though she gave him an odd look, Alexx obligingly reached over and gently lifted his head. There was an oval-shaped void in the blood, in which Horatio could see the corner of a piece of paper. His eyes narrowed.

"What the hell is that?"

"Eric, give me a hand, will you?" Nigel asked.

"What _is_ it?" he asked, setting his camera down on the cot and heading over.

"Well, it's a piece of paper in a pool of blood. It's got to be somewhat important." Nigel pulled on a pair of latex gloves from an open crime scene kit before bending over the desk. Together, he and Eric each grabbed two corners and lifted it up, setting it to the side.

"Looks like notebook paper," Eric said. "What do you suppose he was writing?"

"Let's find out. Nigel," Horatio said, "you and Calleigh take that down to trace, okay? I want to know what's on that paper." Nigel nodded and headed out the door to fetch her. "Eric, let's you and me find the shooter's nest."

-- -- -- -- --

"Nigel, you and Calleigh take that down to trace, okay?" Nigel glanced up at him. "I want to know what's on that paper," Horatio said. He nodded shortly, standing to his full composure and heading back down the hallway. Once he made it back to the lobby, he saw Calleigh talking to an officer a few feet away.

"Calleigh," he called, heading over to her. She looked away from the officer and smiled tiredly just as the officer nodded his partings and waked away. Calleigh met him halfway.

"Hey," she greeted. "News?"

"Yep. We found a sheet of paper in a pool of Lester's blood -- you and I are on trace."

"Sounds good. It might be hard to do without a lab, though," she pointed out.

"Horatio mentioned that earlier. There's another lab nearby we can invade while ours is being repaired. Besides," he said, "we won't need anything too exotic; any half-decent lab would have the right stuff." Calleigh nodded and Nigel glanced from one side to the other, belatedly realising that something was missing: "Where's Jordan?"

"I don't know," replied Calleigh thoughtfully. "She got this weird look on her face and just sort of ran off."

"Yeah, she does that a lot. She usually comes back a few hours later with a theory, though," he said. "Let's hope that it will help us in finding out who killed Lester."

"Mhm. So, where's this new lab to invade?"

-- -- -- -- --

Five minutes later, crime scene kits in tow, Horatio and Eric were wandering across the edge of the grounds. There was a pathetic forest-like smattering of trees just outside the boundary line, one that was not particularly interesting or remarkable in any way. However, it seemed like the most logical place to start.

"Okay," Horatio began, "where along here can we see the window to Lester's cell clearly?"

Eric paused and turned north, looking at the distant precinct. "I don't know, but if he was firing from the forest, that means he had to have been at least three hundred yards away, which is mildly unnerving."

"We've seen worse," he said. "Lester's cell is five down from the hall. So -- one, two, three, four, five -- right there." He pointed to the window which looked shattered, though it was difficult to tell from this distance. "He used a scope, so I'm thinking a Remington model."

"Which would probably indicate that he was in prone position," Eric finished. "Where would he do that? On the ground?"

Horatio fell silent for a moment, studying the window. "No," he said finally. "The path of the bullet was downward; he had to have been higher up."

"Up? Where up?"

After ten seconds of silence, Horatio and Eric looked up at the same time. Dangling from an outstretched branch was a piece of black cloth.

"A tree?" he said incredulously.

"Anything's possible," reasoned Horatio, though he was having trouble believing it, too. "Okay, this might be a rather difficult crime scene to process, I think."

"I haven't climbed a tree since I was nine."

"Well, you're twenty-nine now -- think of it as a twentieth anniversary."

"Thanks, I feel loads better," Eric said with a sigh.

"As your boss, I do everything I can to boost your morale." Horatio patted him on the back.

-- -- -- -- --

"Try it with a UV filter," Calleigh said as she tied her hair back away from her face. Nigel sighed and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm telling you, we need to run it through hydrogen peroxide first."

"That might damage the ink."

"But I don't think he was using ink," Nigel said, looking over his shoulder. "I remember seeing a pencil on the floor. He was probably using that."

"What if you're wrong?"

"What if I'm _right?_"

Calleigh paused.

"Touché," she said finally. "All right, let's see what we can do about that hydrogen peroxide."

As if it were made of glass, Nigel moved the paper into a wide, shallow metal basin before he began to rummage around for a saline solution. Unfortunately, the crime lab was horribly foreign, and finding anything that wasn't n plain sight usually took a few minutes of searching. When they finally found the bottle labelled _H2O2_, Nigel's back hurt from stooping that low for so long. As Calleigh gently tilted the bin up on one side, Nigel's cell phone suddenly went off.

"Here, could you do this for me?"

Calleigh nodded wordlessly, taking the bottle and spaying it gently. Meanwhile, Nigel rummaged through his pockets and finally pulled out his cell phone. "JORDAN" was flashing on the screen. Raising an eyebrow, he flipped it open and put it to his ear.

"Hey," he greeted.

What happened next was so peculiar that he was stunned silent: at the same time on the telephone and in the lab, both Calleigh and Jordan said: "It was Mrs. Lovett!"

"Whoa," he said. "That was spooky."

"Nige, did you even hear me? It was Mrs. Lovett. _She_ was the brains behind the operation!"

"Nigel, you have to see this!" Calleigh said, sounding enthused.

"Hang on; two people are talking to me at once. Err -- Jordan, one second." He put the cell phone against his shoulder and peered over Calleigh's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Read this letter!"

_I, Marvin James Lester, hereby swear that the following is completely true: On November 16, 2006, Eleanor Lovett contacted me with a proposition. For a sum of $15,000, I would, by way of faking the kidnap of her and her husband, would kill Francis Lovett. We agreed that all evidence would be set up to appear as a framing, with my fingerprint but nothing else that pointed to me. I executed the deed on December 2, 2006, but due to an altercation, I_

The writing ended there. Nigel had to read it three or four times to make sure he'd understood everything. If he wasn't dreaming, they had just broken the case.

"Holy shit."

"I'll call Horatio."

"I'll track down Mrs. Lovett."

"Bring someone with you."

"I will. Tell H to call me and I'll tell him where he can find me."

Calleigh hurried out of the lab, shrugging off the white jacket. Nigel put the phone back up against his ear. "You're right -- it was Mrs. Lovett; we just recovered a confession from Lester. He was probably trying to go for a bargain."

"I _knew_ it!" Jordan said, elated. "And I have more where that came from!"

"Tell me," Nigel said as he pulled off his own coat and hurried for the door.

"I went to nose around her home just now, and you will never guess in a million years what I found next to her garbage can," she said.

"Enlighten me."

"Shell casings," she said. "Small calibre. Someone was trying to get rid of them."

"So either she killed Lester--"

"--or she hired someone to do it who's with her as we speak."

"Where are you?" asked Nigel, racing through the unfamiliar hallways.

"Where do you think? I'm still outside her house."

"Okay. Jordan, look, I know you have this obsessive desire to run in, swords ablaze, but do both of us a favour and _stay where you are_," Nigel said emphatically. "I'm on my way and Horatio won't be far behind me. If she leaves, or if anyone else leaves, call me, okay?"

"Nigel, I hardly recognise you!" Jordan said approvingly as Nigel ran out into the Miami sun. "Look at you -- from idle criminologist to hot CSI. No wonder Horatio likes you so much."

"Promise me, Jordan," he said as he climbed into the Hummer.

"Fine, fine. I promise. I'll stay here," she said, if reluctantly. "Church mouse and all that."

"Good. I'll see you soon."

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio stared searchingly at the freshly developed crime scene photograph. The picture had a tire tread that was partially obscured by the grass that grew sporadically across the dirt. "Eric," he said.

Eric glanced over from the small patch of fabric. "Yeah?"

"What do you make of this?" he asked, sliding the picture over to him.

The precinct was almost deserted. He and Eric were making good use of one of the abandoned questioning rooms; it had enough space and proper light -- just enough for them to examine the evidence even if they couldn't run tests on it. Eric picked up the photograph.

"You got this on the scene?"

Horatio nodded. "So what do you think? What sort of car are we looking at?"

"Wide tread, bald, deep-set impressions… I'd say it's some kind of SUV," Eric said.

"A getaway vehicle?"

"Maybe. It would have been pretty difficult to get it onto the property unnoticed, though, let alone the field."

"Well, it worked, didn't it? Didn't we see an SUV in the driveway when we went to question Mrs. Lovett?"

Eric's lips pursed. "Yeah. It was black…"

Horatio's cell phone went off. Instinctively, he pulled it from his pocket, seeing "CALLEIGH" on the screen. He flipped it open and put it to his ear. "Calleigh, hi. What have you got for me?"

"A _doozie_," she said. She sounded out of breath, like she was running. "Nigel and I cleared the blood off; the paper was a statement that Lester was writing that confessed to him being a hired hit-man for Eleanor Lovett."

Horatio was still. "Okay," he said slowly.

"Nigel's tracking her down right now; he says to call him to find him."

"I'll do that. We might need back-up, could you--"

"Two steps ahead of you, H," she said. "I'm heading over to the feds right now; I tried to call them, but I was put on stand-by. One S.W.A.T. or two?"

"Two ready, but I might need neither," Horatio told her. "Tell the head to call me."

"Will do."

Horatio flipped his phone shut and looked up at Eric, who seemed ready to roll.

"Mrs. Lovett hired Lester to kill her husband," Horatio said. "We have to meet Nigel now -- pick our guns up for me, will you, and meet me at the Hummer?"

Eric nodded without a word, abandoning the evidence and heading out the door. Horatio followed but went in the opposite direction, hitting Nigel on speed dial as he strode for the exit. It only took two rings for Nigel to pick up:

"Horatio?"

"Where are you?"

"Headed to Mrs. Lovett's house," he replied quickly. "Jordan's there, she sad she found casings near the rubbish bin out front, which means that whoever killed Lester is inside."

"And armed," Horatio said. "I'll be there as soon as I can with S.W.A.T. -- Nigel, check the house's perimeter; make sure it isn't rigged; I don't trust this family as far as I can toss their checking account."

"Join the club. I'll do just that."

"Be safe."

"I always am."


	26. Closure in Your Day

He saw Nigel's car behind a tall shrubbery, out of the line of sight of the front door. When he approached, Nigel looked up and smiled, relieved, waving at him. Horatio returned the smile as he slowed to a stop at the curb and climb out of the car. Nigel met him halfway, and Horatio took the opportunity to slide his arms around his waist and pull him up against him.

Nigel smirked at him. "Don't make me file a sexual harassment complaint, Horatio," he said slyly, despite the fact that both his hands were resting on his chest.

"If this is what you consider harassment," Horatio said in a low voice as he leaned in towards Nigel, "then I shudder to think what you would call last night--"

"Aren't you two just adorable?"

Horatio, mildly agitated, turned his head and saw Jordan leaning against Nigel's car with her arms crossed over her chest and a smug grin on her face. He forced a smile but didn't bother to release his grip on Nigel's waist.

"Jordan, you timing leaves something to something to be desired," said Nigel evenly.

She just ginned at him before turning her attention to Horatio: "Is someone on the way?"

"A S.W.A.T. and a few detectives," he replied. "They should be here soon. Is there anything on the grounds I should know about?"

"Clean as far as I can see," Nigel said. "The cartridge casings are by the rubbish bin; they're .233, in accordance with the bullets in Lester's head -- Alexx finished post and confirmed it."

"I assume you took pictures."

"You doubted me?"

Horatio smiled. "How could I ever? By the way, what sort of car is in the driveway?"

"Err…" Nigel fell silent for a moment. "I think it's an SUV."

"Hmm. Black?"

"Yeah, why? What does that mean?"

"It means," Horatio said as he heard the black S.W.A.T. van rattle down the street toward them, "that our getaway car is parked here."

"The sniper had a getaway car?"

"Eric's working on the casting of the tire treads right now," he confirmed. The van came to a clattering halt behind him and Horatio heard the already quiet engine go silent. He released Nigel's waist and turned in time to see the head of S.W.A.T. climbing out of the driver-side door. His heavy black armour, combat boots and gloves seemed like far too much for the sweltering, ninety-two-degree day, but Horatio imagined that they were used to it.

"Lieutenant," he greeted as the door slammed behind him and he headed over with an outstretched hand, which Horatio took in a firm handshake.

"Hopkins. Long time, no see," he replied. He'd worked with Earl Hopkins before; he was a good man, with dark skin, hair and eyes, and he was built like a draft horse. "It's good to be working with you again. This is Dr. Nigel Townsend," he continued, motioning to him with one hand. Nigel smiled and shook Hopkins's hand as well.

"Pleasure to meet you," Nigel said.

"Likewise," replied Hopkins. "So what is it, exactly, that we have, here?"

"Well, we have two to three suspects inside," Horatio began, "probably armed and certainly dangerous."

"Is the perimeter clear?"

"I had a look about," said Nigel. "I didn't see anything out-of-the-ordinary, but I'd be on my toes. They're apparently willing to go to great lengths to make sure they get out unscathed." Blocking the light of the sun with one hand, Nigel squinted over the top of the mountainous shrubbery, over which he could see the very tip of the house. "I think we might have the upper hand, though; I don't think they know we're here."

"Well, at least there's that," Hopkins sighed. He turned and headed back over to the van where a few moments later, Horatio heard the heavy doors open, followed by several pairs of feet hitting the ground.

"Cool, S.W.A.T.," Nigel said with a grin. "You always see them on the telly, but never in person."

"You'll be sick of them before long," Horatio predicted as he rested one hand on his waist and used the other to slide his sunglasses off. "We always seem to be working together."

Nigel just smirked as Horatio's cell phone suddenly went off in his pocket. Wordlessly excusing himself, Horatio took a few steps away and pulled the phone out. His Caller ID showed a number he didn't recognise, so when he flipped it open, he said a short, formal, "This is Caine."

"Lieutenant, hello," greeted a prim female voice from the other end of the line. "This is Crystal Gables with Social Services; I'm calling about Lisette Chastain. Do you have a moment?"

Horatio faltered. "I -- yes, of course. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing life-threatening," she assured him. "It's just that she's being… _difficult_."

"Difficult how?"

"Difficult in that she's refusing to be placed with any prospective foster families," said Ms. Gables grimly. "She is absolutely refusing -- insisting that she wants to stay with you."

He fell silent as he processed the information: him? A foster parent? The idea, at first, seemed too absurd to be even considered a possibility. Then again, two weeks ago, so was the idea of being in love. And now that he thought about it…

"Could you, uh… could you hang on for a moment, please, Ms. Gables?"

"Of course, Lieutenant."

Horatio put the cell phone against his shoulder and hailed Nigel over, who exchanged a few final words with Jordan before heading over.

"Yeah?" he asked mildly, his hands buried in his jean pockets.

"Nigel, I'm on the phone with Social Services," said Horatio quietly. "A woman is calling about Lisette."

"Is she okay?" he asked, alarm suddenly making his voice tense. Horatio nodded.

"Yes, she's fine. But they're having trouble placing her with a foster family," Horatio told him. "She's saying that she wants to stay with us."

Nigel blinked at him, looking both bewildered and flattered. "She… oh. Really?"

"Apparently," Horatio said. "What do you think?"

After a few seconds of silence, Nigel said, "I don't know. Could I talk to her?"

Horatio put the phone back to his ear. "Ms. Gables, would it be okay if I spoke to her for a moment?"

"Err…" From the other end of the line, Horatio heard Ms. Gables shuffling through some papers on what was undoubtedly her desk. "I -- well -- I suppose that's fine. Hang on, let me go get her."

"Thank you," Horatio said. A moment later, he heard the background noise vanish, and he passed the cell phone back to Nigel. "On hold," he explained. "Stay here and talk to her, will you? I'm going to go in with S.W.A.T."

"Oh, sure, you get the fun jobs," jabbed Nigel playfully as he took the cell phone.

"I would much rather talk to an adorable, eleven-year-old girl, but one of us has to be with S.W.A.T. and you, unfortunately," he said, "are the only francophone."

"Excuses, excuses," he said dismissively as he put the phone to his ear.

"Fill me in when I get back," Horatio said.

"Will do. Good luck with that, by the way."

"Thank you," Horatio said thoughtfully. "Something tells me that I'll be needing it."

-- -- -- -- --

"I would much rather be talking to an adorable, eleven-year-old girl," Horatio said evenly, "but one of us needs to be with S.W.A.T. and you, unfortunately, are the only francophone."

Nigel put the cell phone against his ear. "Excuses, excuses," he said despite his grin.

"Fill me in when I get back," said Horatio.

"Will do," Nigel replied. "Good luck with that, by the way."

"Thank you. Something tells me that I'll be needing it."

And on that cryptic note, Horatio walked away as the S.W.A.T. mobilised at the end of the driveway. He watched detachedly until they were out of sight. A few moments later, he heard a soft clicking noise.

"_Allô ?_"

It was Lisette; her prepubescent soprano with a Quebecois slant was unmistakeable. Nigel smiled even though he knew she couldn't see it.

"Hey, sweetheart," said Nigel in French.

"Nigel, is that you?" she replied.

"It is me," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, Nigel, it's _terrible_," she said desperately. "They keep trying to send me away with other families, but I don't want to go with them!"

"Okay, love, calm down," he said, his voice soothing. "Calm down, sweetie. Why don't you want to go with them? Aren't they nice people?"

"I don't care heads or tails if they're nice or not," Lisette whimpered. "I want to stay with you and Horatio. You are the only people I really feel safe with!"

Nigel was genuinely touched, and another smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Shifting his weight to his left foot, he said, "Well, honey, that's…" But he really couldn't think of the right adjective; he'd never had a way with words when it really mattered. Finally, he sighed, raked one hand through his hair and managed to say, "It's not just my decision, love. Horatio and I live together now; we both have to talk about this -- all three of us, actually."

"Please don't make me go back with them," she whispered.

He felt his heart break in his chest. "We'll think of something, dear, okay? I promise. You won't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"But they're telling me that I can only stay here until tomorrow," Lisette said. "They have to send me to an orphanage back in Quebec if I'm not taken by then."

"Then Horatio and I will come over this evening love," Nigel said. "We're on a scene right now, but once we're done, we'll come over and see what we can do; how does that sound?"

Lisette sighed and fell silent for a few seconds. "Okay," she said eventually. "But please hurry. This place is really scary."

Nigel opened his mouth to reply but before he could begin, a gunshot split the air. His eyes flew up and, his heart skipping a few beats, he scrambled around to the end of the driveway.

In accordance with S.W.A.T. protocol, the front door was wide open, showing nothing. "Oh, my God -- Horatio," he breathed switching back to English momentarily.

"Nigel? What was that noise?" asked Lisette, worried.

"I -- it's -- I don't know. Sweetie, I have to go now, but I'll call you back as soon as I can," he said, stumbling over his French.

"Is everything okay? Is Horatio safe?" The alarm was now making her voice tighten.

"I'll see you tonight," he said quickly before he flipped the phone shut. Once it was back in his pocket, he grabbed the gun from his hip and hurried toward the door.

-- -- -- -- --

Horatio heard Hopkins bellow, "Miami Dade Police!" That was his cue to follow the team into the house. With one hand hovering near his gun, he started up the long path that led to the front door. From inside, he heard the subtle thumping of boots on the marble foyer floor as he made it inside.

He drew his gun from its holster when he reached the base of the steps. Hopkins used the hand not on his standard-issue semi-automatic to make quick hand symbols at the rest of his time. They simultaneously split up in groups of three, moving swiftly in different directions.

"Miami Dade Police," Horatio repeated, his voice loud but echoless in the seemingly deserted house. With his gun held at the ready near his thigh, Horatio moved around Hopkins toward the kitchen.

He used his shoulder to push through the door and immediately lifted the gun, pointing it out as he scanned the room. He noticed at that moment a few telltale signs -- there were three glasses of what looked like gin abandoned on a table. The chairs were pushed out and the door to the den was ajar. Horatio was silent and still for a few moments as he considered a course of action:

None of the other S.W.A.T. were in his part of the house, and calling them would alert the suspects to his presence. He took in a deep, silent breath and headed toward the den.

One hand pushed open the door and quickly returned to his gun. Sure enough, Eleanor Lovett, Edward Mason and another tall, Hispanic man were crowded near the window. Eleanor was already halfway through it.

"_Freeze!_" he roared, causing them all to jerk around. The unknown man's eyes immediately landed on Horatio's badge.

But it wasn't him that Horatio was worried about, because Mason was the one who grabbed a revolver from his back pocket.

"Don't do this, Mason," Horatio said sharply. "Put the gun down."

"I won't let you take us," Mason growled.

"It's all over," Horatio said as he slowly moved forward, gun out. Though Mason had the revolver pointed straight between his eyes, Horatio didn't finch. "There's nothing you can do. Evidence is in; your fate is sealed, and if you run now, I am going to hunt you down for the rest of my life -- do you understand?"

"I understand perfectly, Caine," snapped Mason, "and I know how to take care of it, too." He cocked the gun.

"Put the _gun down_, Mason," he said more loudly. "Your rap sheet doesn't need any more felonies."

"I should kill you," he hissed.

"But you won't," Horatio replied calmly, continuing to inch closer. "You won't, because you're not a murderer. You know that and I know that, so just put the gun down--"

_Crack!!_

-- -- -- -- --

When Nigel made it into the foyer, he heard four more gunshots, and his skin crawled. He scrambled after the noise, cocking his own gun as he hurried for the den. From above him he heard S.W.A.T. thumping across the floor and down the steps.

He burst through the door to the den, and head only a moment to assess the situation:

Horatio was collapsed against the wall, holding his upper left arm. Blood was seeping between his fingers from under the palm over his wound. The window was open and Nigel saw a booted foot push through the second he looked.

With a split second to react, Nigel took in a breath and rand for the window with his gun ready to be fired.

"_MDPD! Freeze!_"

Three figures were stumbling across the lawn, only two of whom Nigel recognised. Two, however, was more than enough. He aimed and fired three times. Eleanor and the unknown man fell, but Mason only stumbled, stopping to help Eleanor.

When Nigel turned around, S.W.A.T. was just entering.

"Outside, the backyard," he said breathlessly. "I got two of them."

The nearest of the S.W.A.T. nodded and all of them dashed past him. Nigel shoved his gun back into its holster and stumbled back over to Horatio.

"Sharp shooter," Horatio rasped with a tired smile.

"Your arm…"

"It's fine; it's superficial--"

"It's bleeding too much," said Nigel tersely. "I think it hit a brachial artery."

Horatio lifted his chin but didn't deny it, which perhaps frightened Nigel more than his being wounded at all. He looked around the room desperately and spotted a small rectangle of dark green fabric hanging as decoration over the arm of a nearby chair. He leaned over and snatched it.

"Get me fire and rescue!" he cried as he folded the cloth in half lengthwise and slid it around Horatio's arm to tie it tight, fashioning a tourniquet.

"I'll be fine, Nigel," said Horatio as he caught his breath.

"You had damn well better be," he snapped, though he couldn't keep his voice from shaking. "I swear to _God_, Horatio, if anything happens, I will _not_ forgive you."

"I'll be fine," he promised. "I'll be fine…"

-- -- -- -- --

"The tourniquet was quick thinking, Dr. Townsend," the EMT told Nigel twenty minutes later. "It saved him a lot of blood."

Horatio was sitting on the edge of the ambulance bed as a medic finished off tying a bandage around his arm. The wound hadn't been severe enough to merit a trip to the hospital, and they'd had more than enough supplies to treat it on-cite. They had both told him that there was nothing to worry about and that, after applying superglue to the small laceration on the artery, the wound would close on its own in two days, tops.

Nigel breathed out. Horatio could tell that he was beyond relieved. "So he's going to be okay?"

"Of course. I think anything short of a direct nuclear attack wouldn't leave so much as a scratch on Lieutenant Caine," said the EMT, making Horatio smirk. Nigel shook his head with a mirrored grin.

"I guess," Nigel said. "Thanks, mate."

"No problem, man," replied the technician.

"You're free to go, Lieutenant," said the other with a smile. Horatio returned it and stood up, pulling his sleeve back down over his arm as he ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape and headed over to Nigel.

"Hey."

"Hey. All better?"

Horatio smiled. "Yes. Though I wouldn't be opposed to the 'kiss-it-and-make-it-better' treatment."

"Mmm… wait until tonight and you'll get more than a kiss," Nigel said in a sultry voice, his subtlety fleeting.

"That sounds promising," he said. "How was Lisette, by the way?"

"Very upset," replied Nigel, who put one hand on his waist. "She says that she doesn't want to go with any of the families that Social Services is placing her with -- that she wants to stay with us because we're the only ones with whom she feels safe."

Horatio breathed out and fell into momentary silence. He let his mind digest the information for a few seconds.

"Well… I ask again -- what do you think?"

"What do _I_ think?"

"It's not going to be affecting only one of us," said Horatio reasonably.

"Well, I think that she is quite possibly the cutest little girl in a two-hundred mile radius," he began as he counted off on his fingers. "I think she's so sweet that every time I see her I feel like I need an insulin shot, and considering the similarities between her history and my own, I think it's safe to say that I feel an obligation to help her in any and every way I can."

Horatio faltered; he hadn't drawn that conclusion until Nigel had mentioned it. He had a point -- moreover, Horatio couldn't blame him for wanting to help her. Were it him, he'd feel the same way.

"It's hell, you know."

Horatio looked up, the question in his eyes.

"Rape," he explained softly. "It's hell. It's like -- like a constant ache, and sometimes you're so busy that you don't notice it, but it's always there. Like a shadow." Nigel swallowed and Horatio's face softened. He reached over and took his forearm reassuringly. "Having something so precious as your virginity taken from you, and before you're even old enough to know how valuable it is…" He trailed off, eyes falling to the side.

"Hey," Horatio said softly, using his free hand to gently pull Nigel's chin up so he could meet his eyes. "He's going to Death Row. He's going to pay for what he did to you and all those other kids, Nigel."

"I know," he whispered, "but I feel like it's not enough. I don't thinking anything -- prohibited by the Constitution or not -- could possibly equate to what he put me through -- what he put all those kids through. I just--"

Nigel cut himself off and went quiet. Horatio waited patiently as Nigel closed his eyes and gathered his wits.

"I promised Lisette that you and I would come see her at Social Services as soon as we could," he said finally. "If she doesn't have a foster family by tomorrow night, they have to send her back to Quebec -- an orphanage."

"Well, then, by all means," he said, "let's go."


	27. Child in Your Arms

"Horatio!"

"Uh-oh, incoming--"

Lisette Chastain slammed into him full force, her vice-like grip nearly cutting off the circulation in his legs. Nigel, though he was laughing at his expense at first, was not spared; a moment later, she was using one arm for him, as well.

"_Vous êtes venus, les deux !_" she said, elated as she buried her face in Horatio's stomach.

"_Bien sûr que nous sommes venus,_" Nigel replied, sinking down onto one knee to pull her into a tight hug. "_Je t'ai promis, non ?_"

The lobby of the Social Services Centre of Miami was as clean as it was empty. Despite the homey touches of chairs, coffee tables, desk lamps and art, the overwhelming feeling of rigid no-nonsense still prevailed, hanging in the air like a lead blanket. But even that couldn't have wiped the smile off Nigel's face as Lisette threw herself at him with a death-grip hug and a happy squeal. He hugged her back and kissed the side of her head as Horatio crouched down next to her.

"_Bonjour, cherie,_" said Horatio, hugging her in turn.

In the midst of the unbearable cute, Horatio suddenly heard a voice from a few feet away: "Lieutenant Caine?"

The voice, he noticed, was different from the one he'd heard earlier on the phone. When he looked up, a sleek, metallic nametag reading "CASSANDRA" flashed in the sunlight. On her nose she wore a pair of thick, round glasses that concealed wide green eyes. She was staring at him with a look that Horatio couldn't discern, but the card hanging from the bottom of her blouse identified her as a county employee, so Horatio rose to his feet again and pulled off his sunglasses.

"Yes, that's me. And you are?"

"Edgecomb; Cassandra Edgecomb -- Cassie. I'm with Social Services," she stammered, holding out her hand as a look of admiration glazed her face. "I'm sorry, it's just -- it's such an _honour_ to meet you, Lieutenant; I've been following your career in the news -- you really are a brilliant CSI…"

Horatio watched her in puzzled silence for a few moments before he slowly took her hand, mostly out of the years of etiquette that had been nailed into his head at an early age. "Yes, thank you. It's, uh -- it's a pleasure."

From beside him, Nigel stood up heaving Lisette up with him as he said, "Horatio, you never mentioned that you had groupies."

Cassandra Edgecomb went distinctly red in the face. Horatio, ever the gentleman, gracefully changed the subject:

"Miss Edgecomb, this is my lover, Nigel Townsend. Nigel, this is Cassandra Edgecomb with Social Services."

Nigel's mouth made a small 'o' of surprise. He quickly shifted Lisette to one hand so he could offer the other in a handshake. "Lovely to meet you," he said quickly.

"And you. Err, Lieutenant Caine, did you say that he's--?"

"My lover? Yes."

"You're…?"

"Well, Ms. Edgecomb, I have a male lover and no wife, so take a wild guess."

Once again, Cassandra Edgecomb reddened. That seemed to be happening quite a bit.

"That, err… oh," she finished in a small voice. "Okay, but… well, let's step into my office, shall we?" Ms. Edgecomb waved one hand behind her in, Horatio assumed, the general direction of her office. He smiled thinly, unsure if he liked the sound of the 'okay, but.' Nonetheless, he nodded and motioned for Nigel, with Lisette in tow, to go first.

The two-minute walk to her office was through the poorly concealed dreariness of the ground level, and the destination wasn't much more cheerful. The drab, beige walls were sparsely decorated with cheap, framed knock-offs of Claude Monet and a single window without so much as blinds. The desk was Spartan, barren and wholly boring -- even the horribly tacky pink lamp in the corner seemed remarkably uninteresting. As directed, he and Nigel took their seats at the two chairs opposite the desk, but Horatio had the luck to end up sharing his with Lisette, who was apparently too giddy, antsy and/or hyper to stay in one spot for more than a few seconds at a time.

"We, ah…" she began as she sank into her chair and laced her fingers in an arch on the desk. "We might have a problem."

Horatio looked at her with his patented critical gaze. "Problem how?" he asked.

"Well…" She pulled off her glasses and began cleaning them with the edge of her sleeve -- Horatio suspected it was because she didn't want to see the reaction she was about to receive. "Lieutenant, I mean no disrespect by this at all, but the fact that you and err… Mister--"

"Doctor," Nigel corrected thoughtlessly.

Cassandra faltered. "_Doctor_ Townsend," she deferred, "aren't technically -- well, what I mean to say is -- you…"

"Let me take a stab in the dark about what you're trying to tell us, love," Nigel drawled. "Florida, being the horribly backwards, red-as-blood state that it is, does not permit gay couples to act as foster parents."

"Or adoptive parents," Horatio confirmed, leaning back in his chair and letting Lisette ogle his badge. "I had a feeling this would be an obstacle."

"I don't make the rules, Lieutenant, I just--"

"Enforce them. I can't say I haven't heard _that_ one before," said Horatio vaguely as he stared distantly out the window at the parking lot. "Look, Ms. Edgecomb… don't you think that the fact that we _are_ gay would be one of the primary reasons she wants to stay with us at all? Why she feels safe with us?"

Cassandra remained perplexed for a few moments until the reaction dawned on her. She took in a breath and let out a squeak of an "oh."

Nigel returned it with a dry "mhm." He crossed his left leg over his right as he said, "Horatio and I have talked about this in great, agonising detail over dinner, and aside from the lack of female, there is very little you can hold against us."

"First of all, Lisette wants to stay with us," Horatio said. "Second of all, we both have high-paying, respectable jobs and have no criminal history. Third of all, we adore her and wouldn't mind at all if she stayed with us for as long as was needed."

"The best part is that we're not strangers to court and don't have many qualms with taking a discrimination suit there if we must," Nigel added with a dazzling smile.

"Doctor -- Lieutenant -- I, _personally_, think that there is no one better to take her than you," said Cassandra quickly, leaning forward earnestly in her chair. "And you're -- you're absolutely right; you're both upstanding citizens with clean records and a good, safe environment for her. But the decision isn't mine to make," she said with a sigh.

Nigel rolled his eyes, highly exasperated. "Ms. Edgecomb," she said, "you and I both know that your superiors don't so much as _glance_ at anything you submit. You have the power to get us through, hassle-free."

Cassandra fell silent, her eyes trailing down onto the desk. Horatio could see the internal struggle plain as day on her face as she considered the ramifications of both sides playing through her mind.

"It wouldn't be honest," she said finally.

"Ma'am," said Horatio slowly, "sometimes, what's honest is not always right, and what's right is not always honest."

She faltered.

"That's very profound, Lieutenant," Cassandra said after a moment.

"Well, when you've been on the Force as long as I have, you learn a thing or two about morals," said Horatio softly. "So, what do you think?"

-- -- -- -- --

"Another one falls to your cunning powers of persuasion," Nigel said triumphantly. "Have I mentioned lately that you're my hero?"

Horatio just grinned. "Tell Lisette that we'll see her first thing tomorrow."

"Judging by the look on her face when Cassandra caved, I'd say she knows," said Nigel with a laugh. "I think she's long gone by now, anyway."

Horatio's cell phone rang in his pocket, and he pulled it out by the second ring. He saw "ERIC" on the small screen and flipped it open a split second later.

"Eric," he greeted.

"Hey, H, Calleigh and I are through with Eleanor," he said. "You're about to like her a lot less."

Horatio frowned. "How so?"

"Remember how we were looking for a La Hire and a Joan of Arc? Well, Eleanor is our Joan of Arc."

"Come again?"

"She was the co-_founder_ of La Hire's prostitution ring," he said flatly. "They were splitting the profits sixty-forty. Eleanor managed all monetary activity and Carter took care of the clients."

For a few seconds, he said nothing. He knew that she was less-than-innocent for conspiring to kill her husband, but this had taken it to a new level. After a few moments of silence, he said, "So why would she kill her husband, then?"

"A combination of reasons, we guess," Eric said, sighing. "Granted, he was an asshole and he did control her life, but I think there were other factors involved."

"She… wanted to be in charge of the Miami division?"

"Psychic?"

"Just experienced," he murmured, raking one hand through his hair. "Okay, hand her over to the DA."

"Done and done. I've never seen her more glad to take a case from us."

"Good. Nigel and I are almost done here at Social Services," he said. "We'll be back to the crime lab within the hour. Besides the feeling of prevailing disgust, how are things?"

"Ship-shape, boss. What are you and Towns--" Eric cut himself off and sighed. Horatio smiled; at least Eric was trying. "You and _Nigel_," he corrected himself, "doing at Social Services?"

"Well, Eric, it's kind of a long story," he said, glancing at Nigel. Nigel smiled back at him, leaning against the broad glass window. "Suffice to say that this case has affected both of us in what could possibly be a very big way. For now, I don't want you to worry about it, okay?"

Clearly, Eric was having trouble trying to think of what Horatio could possibly be referring to. "Okay," he said slowly after giving up. "Well, Frank's waiting here to wrap up the paperwork and file for a court date, so the sooner you get here, the better."

"I'll be there," Horatio assured him. "See you then."

He flipped the phone shut and once again glanced at Nigel. "Well, Eleanor has been passed over to the DA; as it turns out, she was our Joan of Arc."

"No kidding?"

Horatio shook his head and, as he slid his cell phone into his breast pocket, headed over to Nigel and rested his hands on his hips. "No kidding. She took care of the money, and Carter took care of the kids, after a fashion." He then slid the hands around his waist and tugged him forward, smirking. "But I wouldn't worry."

"She should be thrown into an oubliette," Nigel said with a charming smile.

"That's probably against the Constitution."

"Cut out her tongue, stab out her eyes, hang and quarter her…"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"Are you calling me a lady? And did you just quote _Hamlet_?"

Horatio just smirked and pulled Nigel the last inch closer, kissing him warmly on the mouth as Nigel hummed pleasantly and rested his hands on Horatio's chest. Neither of them had any apparent problem with it; their movements were unrushed, almost lackadaisical, as Horatio gently leaned Nigel back against the wall. When they broke apart, it was a natural occurrence, just as natural as it had begun. Nigel smiled at him, seeming almost tired.

"Do you really think this can work out?" he asked.

"What?"

"This thing. With Lisette. Do you think that she'll end up staying with us, in one big, happy, politically incorrect family?"

Horatio paused thoughtfully. Eventually, he said, "I don't know. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

"I know," he said, "that if it was with you, I'd give it my all."

Slowly, Nigel smiled. "Do you think we could tidy up that guest room a bit?"

"Sure. Let's get a pink comforter. Little girls like pink, right?"

"The room is blue, Horatio," Nigel said with a laugh. "Something tells me a pink comforter would be a decorative _faux pas_."

"Fine, then; I'll leave the designing up to you."

"… Hey!"


	28. Epilogue

"It's cold."

"It's Boston in the middle of December. It's usually cold," Nigel said. "This is what happens when you live in Miami for too long."

Horatio said nothing for a few moments, though he did grin wryly. "I'll remember to bring my parka next time."

"Suck it up."

Nigel navigated his way around an immense mound of snow on the edge of the road. The walk from his apartment to the morgue was too short to bother calling a cab, and he did take a grim amusement in seeing Horatio in 15-degree weather. Besides, they'd only be here for a few more hours.

The morgue wasn't much warmer than the outside, but it was an improvement. Nigel pulled off his driver's cap and headed towards the front desk, smiling at the receptionist and pulling Horatio in by the end of his sleeve. The first stop he made was to his office; he didn't want to waste much time here.

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" Horatio asked as Nigel closed his office door.

"I've said goodbye to everyone I want to already," Nigel said, opening up his messenger bag and producing a long piece of cardboard that, when folded correctly, would make a box. "Give me a hand with this."

It took them a few minutes to finally get the cardboard to bend in the right way. Once it was sturdy enough, Nigel moved his things into it as Horatio peered out the window that overlooked the busy streets below. It didn't take long for him to get everything -- his laptop, his CDs, his assorted books -- and close the box up again.

"Ready?"

"Ready. Let's jet."

Of course, it wasn't that simple (it never was): once Nigel opened the door again, he quite literally ran into Dr. Macy. If Horatio hadn't been behind him, he would have fallen over -- luckily, the strong hands caught him before he fell. He oriented himself again, as did Macy, who looked up from the folder in his arms.

"I'm terribly sorry, I-- oh. Nigel," he said, though it wasn't Nigel he was looking at.

"Hey, Dr. Macy," he replied, laughing nervously. "It's, uhm… it's nice to see you."

"Likewise," he mumbled. "Are you gathering up your things?"

"Yep. We just took the train up from Miami; we'll be long gone by five…"

"Yeah. Nigel, can I talk to you?"

"You… aren't talking to me now?"

"_Alone?_"

Nigel glanced apprehensively over his shoulder. Horatio was frowning almost imperceptibly, one hand on his hip and the other drumming its fingers on his thigh. He gave him a short nod, a silent "go ahead," and Nigel heaved a sigh, setting the box down near his office door before following Dr. Macy to the other end of the hallway.

"Nigel, are you sure about this?" he asked urgently.

"Yes," he said firmly. He'd had a hunch that this would be the topic of conversation.

"At least think before you answer. Are you _sure?_ Is he worth it?"

Nigel bristled. "Yes, he's worth it," he snapped stiffly. "We're in love. How is that difficult to understand?"

He shook his head, closing the folder with one hand and turning his head to one side. "It just doesn't add up."

"Well, put yourself in the situation," Nigel said. "You go on a business tip to, say -- San Francisco, you meet a woman, and within days you fall desperately, passionately in love. You have the opportunity to spend the rest of your life with her, in exchange for what you have here."

"If it were me, I would try to make a long-distance relationship until I came to a better conclusion," Macy said. "It could work; love can still live from a few thousand miles away."

"Love isn't made of just emotions," said Nigel tersely. "What about holding them in your arms? Kissing them, making love to them, enjoying their touch? You can't do _that _from a few thousand miles away."

Dr. Macy sighed.

"I love him," he said, almost desperately. "I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And the difference is that I can leave; it's not so easy for him." (Besides, Nigel doubted that Horatio and Dr. Macy could coexist in the same building for more than a month before they would tear each other limb from limb.) "And I'm sorry if you don't like it, but… as harsh as it sounds, no matter what you say, I'm leaving."

For a few moments, Dr. Macy was silent. Eventually, he said, "Well, I'm still not forgiving him for stealing one of my best criminologists."

Nigel smiled slowly. "You'll find another."

"Nigel, cab's here."

He looked over his should. Horatio was standing by the front window twenty feet away, his chin down but his blue eyes watching them carefully. Nigel raised his eyebrows and went to grab the box full of his things, but Dr. Macy set his folder aside and said, "Here, let me get it."

"Oh -- thanks."

Dr. Macy crouched down to grab the box and lifted it up, heading over with Nigel to Horatio.

There was a tense pause. The two of them were watching each other like vipers ready to go for the kill. Nigel was prepared to bludgeon one of them with his bag if necessary.

"Doctor," Horatio said shortly.

"Lieutenant," he replied, just as shortly.

"All aboard the creepy train to awkward town," Nigel said. "Let's _go._"

-- -- -- -- --

Barely a week passed before Horatio's home became Horatio and Nigel's home. The closet now had two sets of clothes, the bathroom had two types of shampoo, and the den was now stocked with twice the DVDs. Much like those inhabiting it, however, the two sets, though different at first sight, complimented each other perfectly.

During the few days in which Miss Edgecomb from Social Services hammered out the proper paperwork for the two of them to become official foster parents to Lisette, Horatio and Nigel settled into a comfortable rhythm. From the sleepy mornings where they would stay in bed for a few minutes despite the alarm, relaxed and comfortable in one another's embrace, to the late nights usually filled with mind-shattering sex, and every little thing in between, the two of them grew more ad more certain that they'd made the right choices.

As such, when Miss Edgecome came to inspect their home (to make sure Lisette would be comfortable; she admitted that it was pointless, but still required by law), she had little to say against them.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said as she pushed her glasses up her nose and studied the papers on her clipboard. "You've submitted the proper documentation, have a suitable place for Lisette, and meet all the requirements for foster parents. I think we may be done here."

Lisette, who'd been waiting for the word "done," raced forward and not for the first time latched onto Horatio's stomach, grinning widely. Horatio had been prepared for it this time, though: he smiled and hugged her right back.

"I practise the English now!" Lisette said delightedly.

"That's -- that's great."

"Cute overload," Nigel said, pressing a palm against his temple.

Miss Edgecomb left a few minutes later. The rest of that Saturday was eventful: Lisette spent most of it racing around the house, learning every nook and cranny, occasionally returning with a random object and asking Horatio what it was or what he used it for (he'd had to improvise when she came back with the infamous red satin cord).

After dinner, Nigel had to wrestle Lisette into bed, as she continually insisted that she wasn't the least bit tired and wanted to stay up jus a little bit longer. But when he finally managed to get her to lie down in the oversized blue pyjamas they'd bought her, she was almost out like a light.

Nigel smiled and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Finally getting sleepy?" he asked in French.

"Maybe a bit," she replied reluctantly, snuggling down into the bed.

"I'd offer to read you a story, but I don't think you'd like many of my books," said Nigel with a smile.

She paused. "When I was little," she said thoughtfully, "before I was taken away, my papa used to sing to me. He was an actor."

"Really? What song did he sing?"

"He toured a lot," she said. "He used to perform at Stratford Von Avon… he played Roger in the musical, _RENT_." She got a wistful smile on her face. "He sang a lovely song to me every night -- 'One Song Glory.'"

Nigel fell silent for a moment. It had been a while since he'd seen _RENT_, but he owned the original Broadway cast recording. "I think I know that song."

"You do?"

He nodded. "I'm not sure if I remember all the words, but I can try if you want."

Her smile was all the answer he needed. Nigel leaned back thoughtfully on one hand.

"One song -- glory -- one song before I go -- glory," he sang slowly, "one song to leave behind." Lisette smiled again and sank back onto her pillow. "Find one song, one last refrain -- glory -- from the pretty-boy front man who wasted opportunity. One song; he had the world at his feet -- glory -- in the eyes of young girl, a young girl…" The smile widened as her eyes began to close.

"Find glory beyond the cheap coloured lights -- glory -- before the sun sets. Glory on another empty life… Time flies, time dies…"

-- -- -- -- --

Fresh from the shower, Horatio left the bathroom and headed down the hall. He thought he'd get a bottle of wine from the cellar to celebrate the occasion once Lisette was finally asleep.

As he headed past the ajar door to the guest room, he suddenly stopped when he heard a voice from within."

"Find the one song beyond the cheap coloured lights -- glory," sang who he could only assume to be Nigel, in a surprisingly melodic tenor voice (who'd have thought?), "like a sunset. One song to redeem this empty life… Time flies, time dies… glory, one blaze of glory…"

Horatio leaned against the wall, content to listen, a smile inching onto his face.

"One blaze of glory, glory. Find glory in a song that rings true; truth like a blazing fire, an eternal flame… Find one song; a song about love -- glory -- from the soul of a young man, a young man…"

He lowered his head slightly. Nigel was quite talented.

"Find the one song before the virus takes hold -- glory -- like a sunset; one song to redeem this empty life. Time flies, and then to need to endure anymore. Time dies…"

Only a few more seconds passed before he heard the faint groaning of the springs. Soon Nigel was inching through the door, and once it closed, Horatio grinned and slid both hands around his waist, pulling him back and kissing his neck languidly.

Apparently, Nigel had grown used to it. He smirked and arched his neck accordingly.

"That was lovely," said Horatio softly.

He laughed and shook his head.

"No, really. It was very good; where did you learn to sing?"

"My mum," Nigel explained. "She'd always wanted me to be the next Elvis Presley. Unfortunately, I think I didn't quite get to that level before she passed away."

"Well, not Elvis Presley, perhaps, but good all the same," said Horatio, turning him around to claim his mouth in an unhurried kiss, which lasted for a few long moments. Nigel leaned back against the wall, his hand sliding across Horatio's shoulders and Horatio's moving down towards his thighs. As the kiss grew deeper, the movements grew that much more erotic, putting both of their senses on alert.

Before it got too far, Horatio pulled back and rested his forehead on Nigel's. "Do you know what this is?"

"Foreplay?" he guessed.

He smirked and laughed once. "Well, aside from that," he said reasonably.

"Then no. What is it?"

"It," Horatio said slowly, opening his eyes to meet his lover's, "is the first day of the rest of our lives."

-- -- -- -- --

_fin_

-- -- -- -- --

**Holy shit, kids, it's over!** Let me just say thanks so much to everyone who's read this nonsense, especially those who've been with me from the beginning. Much less-than-three to all of you!

I'd also like to let you all know that **there will be a sequel**. It will be called _Heist_ and the first chapter should be coming out in about a week. HOWEVER, **THE SEQUEL WILL _NOT_ BE AVAILABLE ON FFN!** Okay? It won't be! **It will be posted on my personal website!** To find it for yourself, go to my profile. If you're lazy and want a direct link, **leave a review and I'll give you the URL.**

Once again, thanks for everything, guys. Your letters, comments, threats and blackmail kept me going throughout a day-to-day basis. Without you fuckers, none of this would be possible.

Love, Snuffy -- xoxo


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